All I Want Is To Fall With You
by halfachance
Summary: On his last night home in LA before becoming a field agent, Chuck finds himself begrudgingly dragged to a nightclub, all thanks to Morgan. But what he meets there, or rather, who he meets there, is about to change his life, and his future spy career, in ways he can't possibly imagine. AU.
1. Los Angeles

**summary:** On his last night home in LA before becoming a field agent, Chuck finds himself begrudgingly dragged to a nightclub, all thanks to Morgan. But what he meets there, or rather, who he meets there, is about to change his life, and his future spy career, in ways he can't possibly imagine. AU.

 **a/n:** Well hi again! First, let me just say a huge thank you to everyone who reviewed my last/first fic! You were all super kind and I meant to respond to all of you saying thanks, but I forgot and now it's been so long it might be kinda awkward, but I definitely appreciate it all. Like I said, it'd been a while since I'd posted anything, so such lovely feedback was wonderful. With that in mind, then, I thought I'd post something else! I love so many amazing Chuck AUs, and I wanted to try one out for myself and put my own spin on things, taking inspiration from some of my favourite things in canon, and this ole' giant multi-chapter was born.  
This is half-prologue, half-first chapter, so it's a little different in style and stuff than other chapters will be, and there could be a lot of questions at the end. If you like it, though, there's a good couple more chapters following on from it where you'll definitely get some answers (eventually, heh), so feel free to leave me a review and let me know if you'd want more! And by the way, note the rating on this one. Some adult stuff lies ahead...  
(Oh, and if anyone recognizes the song the title's from, I can't stop listening to it, and it just reminds me of Chuck and Sarah now. Damned earworm.)  
 **disclaimer:** I don't own Chuck, hazy clubs, hotel bars, or secretaries that look like Captain Awesome.

* * *

 **2006.  
** **summer.**

He hates clubs. Like, really hates them. The pounding music and drunken patrons and incessant smoke that makes the air in the tight space all hazy serves nothing but to give him a headache. Give him a nice cool bar with some easy tunes drifting out the jukebox anytime, but a club, he'd rather pass.  
And, he thinks, as another drunk person trips over their own feet and stumbles right onto the floor, tonight he really should've passed.

"Chuck! Dude, isn't this place amazing?" Morgan hollers loudly even though he's right next to him, patting him on the back. One of Morgan's Buy More colleagues suddenly starts slurring loudly in Chuck's other ear. Overall, it's not very pleasant.

"Yeah! Yeah, it's great buddy," he lies, squinting his eyes against the lights somehow intent on blinding him right now. He has to admit, when Morgan had said they were gonna hang out the next time Chuck was in town, this wasn't what he'd been expecting. Clubs didn't used to be Morgan's scene, he much preferred a room with a console and two controllers and the both of them chilling with a pizza until 4am. But Chuck supposes he's seen his friend less and less recently as he's made the transition from analyst to agent on the East Coast and he's been able to visit LA even less than normal, so that he's missed the change isn't surprising, really, just sad. However, he'd been intent on spending some of his sacred four days' vacation time with his childhood friend, and while he hadn't factored Morgan's drunken co-workers and a very loud club into the equation, at least they're still hanging out.

He raises his shoulder into a stretch, cracking his neck at the still-aching muscles. Training's been tough the past few months, working him to the point of exhaustion and building him up from lanky desk nerd to someone more suited to go out on missions, and days later he's still feeling the pain.  
Somewhere, somehow, he'd impressed someone higher-up in the CIA with some of his analyst work after years behind a computer, and they'd decided at the drop of a hat to spend time and money making him field-ready, their very own mobile hacker tech support electronic lock breaker, all in one. He snorts to himself. He's like a human Swiss Army Knife, pull on a limb and some kind of helpful tool will be attached to it.

He wonders, absentmindedly, what Bryce would think of what's happening to him, after all this time. But then again, last Chuck heard Bryce was in deep cover in Russia and hadn't set foot on US soil for a good couple years, so he doubts they'll have a chance to awkwardly catch up over coffee before Chuck's finished his training.

"I'm gonna go get another drink," he yells a couple minutes later, when he's just saved a tipsy woman from letting her broken high heel lead to a broken neck, and his bottle is empty of liquid courage all of a sudden. "You want anything?"

Morgan waves him off.  
"Nah, I'm good bro, Anna just went to go get me and her another shot!"

Rolling his eyes at his friend and his "sorta-we've-made-out-a-bunch" girlfriend, Chuck slips out of the corner he'd safely tucked himself into and crosses through the melee of people apparently dancing to some kind of tune. The music is so loud he can't even make out the beat.

It takes some waving and yelling to get the bartender to notice him, but she turns round eventually, looking a little impatient. He gets it, it's a crazy night.  
"Another one of these, please!" he shouts, waving his empty beer bottle in her direction. She raises an unimpressed eyebrow at his keen tone, and Chuck realizes she's probably more used to grunts and points from drunken customers as opposed to actual politeness.

She's quick, though, handing him a fresh drink and taking his cash within a minute despite the hectic bar, and he lets her keep the change as the least he can do. Agency work pays pretty good when you're on the way up, he's realized recently. He wonders if Ellie and Awesome need a new TV...

"Ugh, c'mon dammit."  
The frustrated tone suddenly right next to him makes him quirk an eyebrow in amusement, whoever's standing there sounding not at all happy. Though Chuck really doesn't mean to pry, when he turns his head to look back at where Morgan and his pals were last bopping around, he catches sight of the woman next to him, and tries to stop his mouth from dropping to a gape.  
Because, wow, she's gorgeous, with really shiny blonde hair, and she's in a cute dress he thinks might be dark blue but it could also be neon green in this weird club lighting, and she looks incredibly, incredibly pissed off.

All thoughts of Morgan pretty much evaporated, he looks down at the woman- but not too far down, he realizes. She's in giant heels and she's almost matching his height from where he's slouched a little against the bar, which intrigues him way more than it should do. She shuffles on her feet, and it dawns on Chuck then that he's being a complete creep.

"I, uh, I don't mean to sound rude, or weird," he says, calling over the music in a raised voice. She turns to look at him, an understandable little dismissive glint in her eye, and his breath catches in his throat again as he looks at her, properly. Her eye makeup is dark and glittery, popping with the blues (or again, maybe greens) of her eyes, and she's a lot closer than he thought she was, suddenly, because he's looking right at her and she's just staring at him, all close, and his thoughts are veering ridiculously off topic. He swallows, trying to keep it together. Sure, it's been a while, a very long while, since he's been interested in anyone, analyst work keeps you pretty busy, but with this woman, god, it's not just that. He clears his throat, steps back a little. "But are you okay?"

"No. I need a drink and I can't get any service here." Her tone is punctuated and pissed, though he's not sure if that's aimed at him or the club in general, and she turns away from him, trying a gesture instead. But the bartender is still facing away from them, moving on to a new customer, and the woman groans impatiently.

"Wow, okay, um." He straightens, a little amused by her intense frustration over something so regular for a place like this on a night like tonight, and also feeling a little bad for the bartender. Though he thinks about saying that to the person by his side, he decides instead to stand to his full height, conveniently distancing himself a little more from this woman who's making his head spin, and reaches over the bar with a wide wave. "Yo!"

The girl turns almost as if on cue, leaving a disgruntled looking guy still waiting, and Chuck pulls back to take a sip of his beer, feeling a little awkward. He's not quite sure why he did that, or why he's still standing taking up space here when Morgan and his drunk friends are elsewhere, but he's sure it's got a lot to do with the person right next to him. There's just something about her that's scattering his thoughts left right and center and a little part of him wants to figure out just what that is.

"Impressive." The woman in question mutters, before rambling out an order for four drinks so quickly and preparedly Chuck can't even really hear any words before she's finished. Once the bartender has set about making drinks he still can't identify as much more than two shots, one pink thing, and something bubbly with a whole lot of vodka, the woman turns to him, apparently expecting him to speak.

Though he racks his brains for an excuse or explanation, he doesn't really have one, so he settles for humor instead, and shrugs.  
"The benefit of long limbs."

To his surprise, the woman laughs. Really, truly, laughs, throws back her head and snorts a little bit. It's not fake or flirty or done for any reason, he apparently genuinely just made her laugh. He blinks.

"I don't suppose you'll pay for it too?" she says, waiting a beat during which his jaw drops. "I'm kidding. My friends could drink anyone out of their bank account, myself included."

He finds himself grinning then, can feel his nose crinkling in that way it does when he smiles too much. Ever since one of his trainers pointed it out as a potential tell, Chuck's found himself way too aware of it, but he figures tonight, he's not on a mission, there's nobody to hide a tell _from_ , and hell, if this woman even picks up on it at all, she doesn't say anything.

He's about to chat more, enjoying this brief reprieve in the madness of this heavy club, but the girl behind the bar turns around and sets all the drinks down, swiping up the woman's cash and letting her pay quickly before turning back round to the next impatient customer, and on top of all that, Chuck thinks he can hear Morgan calling his name. He guesses the craziness is about to return full force.

The woman scoops the many glasses up together, balancing the shots and taking a good drink out the vodka mixer, evidently hers, so it won't spill as she scoops it up with the pink thing.

"Thanks for the help." she says, raising an eyebrow and winking briefly, making his heart stumble over itself, then turning around to head back into the fray.

"See you around!" he calls out for some reason completely unbeknownst to him. She doesn't turn back to face him, but he sees as she raises and drops a shoulder in a shrug and keeps walking toward a group of dancing girls. He watches her a beat longer, then walks away.

* * *

"Oh, if it isn't Mr Long Limbs."

He almost drops his drink as he spins around.

It's her. She's smiling at him in the doorway, still in that dark blue (he was right) dress, much easier to see, and somehow even prettier, in the clear night instead of in the bright hazy club. The balcony is empty, squashed cigarette butts scattered around, the cool night air a refreshing change from the heat of the place inside. Chuck had stumbled out here when Morgan and Anna had been making out a little too intensely to the left of him, and an unknown Buy More employee had started dozing off on his shoulder on his right, and it's nice here, lets him clear his head. It's kinda peaceful. Well, as peaceful as the smoker's balcony in a Los Angeles club can get, he supposes.  
And, for some reason, this woman's here too.

He hadn't caught sight of her again after the bar until now- the club had just been too busy and too crazy and he'd figured a fun exchange getting drinks was all that was going to come between him and this woman. And yet, here she is, an hour later, right where he is.

"God, please don't call me that," he finds himself saying with a laugh, not as tongue-tied as he'd expected to be though he can see her so much clearer now. There's glitter in her hair and scattered across her cheeks and her lips are shiny and pink and she's incredibly distracting, but his seduction training must be paying off a little because she's smiling right at him and he hasn't even fallen over yet, a definite improvement on what would've happened had this occurred months ago.

"I didn't know what else to call you..."  
There should be a suggestion in her words, the way she trails off to let him fill in the blank, but in fact she sounds incredibly innocent. Open.

"Chuck's fine."

As expected, she looks a little surprised as she steps nearer him, walking out from the doorway onto the balcony itself.  
"Chuck?"

"Yup, like the shoes, that's me."  
As an agent, they want him to go by Charles, think it's more refined and mature and appropriate, less identifying, even though they were fine with plain old Chuck when he was stuck behind a desk. But hey, he's on vacation right now, and honestly, he'd let this woman call him whatever she wanted.

"Sarah." She nods, sipping from the drink in her hand and folding her arms over her chest, before leaning back against the balcony railing. He lets that name sink in, for some reason. "It's crazy in there tonight."

"Yeah, not really my scene, as you could probably guess by the fact that I'm hiding out on the smoker's balcony and I don't even smoke."

Her lips quirk into a smile.  
"Not really mine either, but we're both here, so..."

Tipping his head back, he finishes off his beer, lukewarm as it now is.  
"Well, I just came with my friend, he wanted to hang out while I was in town. You might've seen him, little guy, beard?"

She narrows her eyes as she takes another sip, and he can tell by the look she sends him that she's about to tease him.  
"I think I just met him on my way out here. You should let him know he's lost his shirt, he didn't seem to have noticed."

"Oh god, Morgan..."  
His head falls into his hands as he trails off into a chuckle, and he thinks he hears her laughing too. Chuck knows, if Morgan's that tipsy, he really should go back to him, but something about this Sarah makes him feel all lazy and relaxed in a good way, a way the alcohol has failed to tonight thus far. She's easy to talk to and she seems to find him somewhat funny, which is insane. So while Chuck's brain tells him to bundle Morgan into the nearest cab, his feet stay firmly planted on the balcony floor.

Sarah hums.  
"So, you're not from here, if you're just back in town?"

"Me? No, I work on the East Coast, I'm just here for a couple days on vacation, visiting my family, my friends, y'know." It could be the last time he sees them for a while if all goes to plan, but he won't tell that to a stranger in a club even if she does keep making his head so fuzzy. She only blinks at his comment. "You?"

"Oh, I don't live here either," She pauses, takes a sip from her glass. "I, um, I travel, a lot. I'm just here with my friends." She sends him a quick smile that he returns in kind.

"Right, the friends who'll drink you out of your bank account, I remember."

She laughs again, for some reason, in that funny real way, then sends him the most beautiful grin he thinks he's ever seen. All big and teeth and crinkling at the corners of her eyes, which seem to be sparkling at him now and it can't possibly just be the glittering club lights, because they're outside right now and there are no club lights. It's all just her.  
She drains her drink.

"You want another?" he asks, nodding his head in the direction of her glass.

He watches as she pauses, licks her lips in a way that makes his mind fog up before pursing them a little, then evidently decides.  
"You had better luck than me last time, so sure, why not, right?"

"I'll even pay for it this time!"  
His joke hits the mark, and she laughs once more.

* * *

"Wait, so you call him ' _Captain Awesome'_?"

He chuckles, wondering quite how to explain the affectionate nickname, and shrugs.  
"It just, it fits him, he's awesome! Everything he does is awesome, he's a real adventure type, but he's also ridiculously upbeat all the time, to him, skydiving, flossing, it's all awesome."

Sarah laughs again. If Chuck's learnt nothing else today he has learnt that he loves it, absolutely loves it, when she laughs. It's perfect and soft and aimed at him and the satisfaction he gets from knowing he made that happen, to her, made her laugh, makes his head spin like nothing else for some reason, and it's certainly not the beer's doing.

She sets her empty glass down on the little metal table out on the balcony. They could've moved back inside, he knows, especially when their drinks ran out about ten minutes ago, but they've apparently been ignoring that, and the fact that the summer heat has begun to get a little bit chilly as the night's dragged on.

"But 'Captain Awesome'?" She still can't seem to believe it.

"Seriously. If you met him, you'd get it, right away."

"I'll take your word for it." she says with a grin, and he finds himself beaming right back at her, a little lost in her gaze and yeah just maybe the heat and the alcohol and the night. He's lost track of how long they've been out here, just talking, discussing their lives and their interests and their friends. Admittedly, Sarah hasn't said too much about her own life, but she's been perfectly happy to comment on his, and the sheer interest she apparently finds in him is leaving him reeling just a little. The most beautiful woman he's ever seen, known, came to a club with her probably equally beautiful friends, and instead of partying the night away with them, she's here, on a tiny outdoor balcony, in the kinda cold, with him. A giant nerd with a drunk shirtless friend and a sister with an awesome boyfriend. How or why this is happening, Chuck's not sure, but he very much likes it.

The conversation lulls, just fading away to a comfortable silence, Sarah's smile not abating once, and he leans in to her a little bit, lifting his empty bottle.  
"Do you wanna get-"

"Hey, blondie! Get your ass back to this dance floor right- Oh."  
Someone interrupts him, and he and Sarah both turn to look at the door that leads back out to the club. Midway through the person's sentence, Chuck sees a flash of brown hair fly round the doorframe followed by a tanned face.

"Did you find her?" Someone else unidentified says, and he can just about hear the clip clopping of heels over the vague pounding of the music. Another head pops round.

"Hi!" he finds himself greeting to the two people, rolling up the sleeves of his long-sleeved t-shirt as if he's about to shake hands with the women he presumes are some of Sarah's friends, which is a ridiculous idea, but for some reason he's doing it anyway.

"Hey," the brunette says, staying by the corner of the door and looking at him, unimpressed, raising an arched brow that looks as perfectly supermodel-esque as the rest of her. He thinks he recognizes her from the group Sarah had swayed back to after the bar earlier. "And you are?"

"Yeah, you are?" the... redhead, Chuck notes, repeats like it adds any meaning.

"Chuck." Sarah answers for him, and he'd smile at her introducing him and maybe step forward to continue it himself if it weren't for the masked iciness in her tone. Sure, she still sounds pretty normal, but he heard how she pressed out his name, he picked up on the tension in her voice, and when he turns to look at her he sees her frame is just as tense too.  
Spy training makes you notice these tells, and times like these, he's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

"Zondra." says the brunette, jerking her head in her other friend's direction before introducing, "Carina."

"Nice to meet you guys!" he says, only mildly terrified by these women, now eyeing him sceptically like he's both to be devoured and destroyed. These may be Sarah's friends, and he knows they're just looking out for her which is really nice, but he doesn't really think the two are anything like the woman he's been talking to tonight. Where Sarah is lightness and easy conversation, these two are... well, intimidating.

"Weren't you just leaving?" Sarah asks the two women, and he's about to protest that that's not necessary, he's the one intruding here, when Zondra interrupts him, again.

"Actually, we were. Carina struck out, we're gonna hit up someplace else. I guess we'll... see you tomorrow?"  
The woman's tone seems to imply something Chuck hasn't even really thought of tonight with Sarah, because frankly just hanging out here and laughing is quite enough to make him feel satisfied tonight wasn't a complete bust. Anything else, anything- God, he can't even think about what else, but it would just be an added impossible bonus, of sorts, that will never happen, because this sort of meet-cute thing could maybe happen to Charles Carmichael, but not Chuck Bartowski, never Chuck. And tonight, he's just being Chuck.

Sarah visibly relaxes despite the implied acts of her friend, and while he flushes and looks anywhere but at the women, she looks calm and collected once more.  
"Yeah, see you then."

Zondra and Carina say their goodbyes before turning on their heels, and their hair even flies round their shoulders like there's a wind machine, Chuck notices, hearing them speak as they leave.

"I can't believe you struck out with that tiny guy with the beard-"

"Shut up, Zondra!"

Sarah turns to look at him at the same time he turns to her, and the moment he meets her eyes, he loses it. The laughter bubbles out loudly, as does Sarah's, and he finds himself leaning towards her, trying to anchor himself to her so as not to fall over from laughter, but it's tricky. She's just as bad, leaning back against the balcony rail and chuckling right against him, her eyes shut tight at the hilarity of just the sheer idea of Morgan and Carina, and then, Chuck thinks, at the hilarity of just laughing for the sake of laughing. He's laughing so much he's struggling to breathe, it's that ridiculous.

By the time they settle down, there are tears of laughter brimming in his eyes and he's almost pressed up right against Sarah. Her hand is resting on his chest and he can't remember when she put it there, but he's damned if it doesn't feel good to feel the warmth spreading through her palm.  
There's a bit of hair falling over her face when she looks up at him, and he's reaching to brush it away before he can think.

His knuckles brush her cheek. Her skin feels a little grainy from the glitter, but mostly cool and soft and the touch sends sparks down his arm, and if the way her eyes flutter shut at the movement is any indication, she feels something similar too. She opens them again slowly as he tucks the strands of hair behind her ear then lets his hand drop down to her shoulder, and it's far less intimate but somehow, even more so, even more heated.

He pulls back as silence falls, clears his throat.  
"Sorry,"

She raises an eyebrow, smiles a little.  
"It's okay." she says, voice light, breezy.

Nodding, he thinks back to what he'd been thinking before they'd been interrupted.  
"So—"

"D'you wanna get another drink?" she murmurs, saying his exact thought, her voice low and soft and husky like it caught a little in her throat, and he's pretty sure he knows how she feels. He nods, but makes no move for the door back into the club. "I don't- My hotel has a really great bar, it's open all night, and it's a lot less loud and crazy than this place, if you… wanted to get out of here."

Her eyes look dark all of a sudden, and despite himself, at the idea of going to her hotel, even for just a drink, even for some space to talk easier, Chuck feels something spark in his chest and sink low in his stomach, warm and oh, very tempting. The happy fun of Sarah's presence has been set aside for the all the more inviting intimate heat he can feel pass between them.

Licking his lips, he eyes her.  
"Y'sure?" It may only be her hotel bar, but he knows, that's a lot. Maybe it's his training, but someone giving up their location like that seems kinda a big deal. She just nods, though, grins, and he smiles at her without any effort, it just feels natural. "Okay."

* * *

The hotel bar is nice, he thinks. Swanky and modern and shiny, and he's got a good view of the fancy marble lobby from the high stools they're sat at, away from the bar itself. But honestly, he's not paying much attention.

Because Sarah is ridiculously pretty, and she's sitting very very near to him, twisted on her seat to look at him face-on. Their close proximity means she keeps resting her hand on his when she sets hers down after running it through her hair, or toying with the seam along his shirt sleeve almost absentmindedly, or tapping his wrist when she makes a point, and with every touch Chuck is sure he can feel himself fall a little deeper, a little harder.

Oh, and he's in _Sarah's hotel_ right now and they've both had a few drinks though he's never felt more sober and aware in his life, and though he knows this is just a casual drink, her soft warm touch means that increasingly, when she curls her lips round the thin straw in her vodka tonic, he can't help but stare and wonder what those lips might feel like against his.

He takes a large gulp of his scotch and the burning of his throat is a perfect distraction.

"So, when do you fly back east?"

A perfect distraction until she speaks again, that is, and he's captivated by her once more.

He dances his fingers along her palm as he replies, just like she's done a couple of times tonight. This closeness, this contact, it should feel strange with someone he's only just met, and yet, it doesn't, and Chuck can't work out why. He does know he likes her hand, though, long nimble fingers and soft smooth skin, and that the temptation to wrap his palm round hers got suddenly very strong the moment they left the club and honestly, it hasn't ebbed away since then.  
"Late tomorrow night. Or," He looks to his watch, 00:53, "late today, I guess."

She smiles, but it's a bit tight, a bit tense, and he wonders if she's thinking what he's thinking. That this night has been impossible and brilliant with her, and if he had time, oh, if he had time, he's sure he'd spend every moment he could figuring Sarah out, trying to make her laugh that way she does, just being, because tonight has been so effortless just by her side.  
As it is, he should probably head back to Ellie's, start to pack, find out where Morgan is since last time he saw him, as they exited the club, his friend was still shirtless and also claiming the light fixture on the ceiling was a piñata.  
Chuck just doesn't have time.

He clears his throat and gathers his will to leave, a tricky task.  
"Hey, I should probably-"

"Chuck?" Sarah interrupts, another in a night of interruptions, and he looks to her in question, but right now she's just biting her lip and staring determinedly at his hand where her fingers are just resting against his. Something in her tone makes him glad she stopped him talking, because whatever she's got to say is apparently far more interesting.

"Yeah?"

"Come up to my room?" His pulse skyrockets and his skin flushes and he should be awkward now, should stumble over his words and make some apology, but Sarah's blushing pink and her eyes are locked on his all of a sudden, now dark and intense and heated and he can't find the strength within him to think about anything but her, anything at all. He knows he could very well be jumping to a conclusion here, but as she just stares him down the meaning in her words only becomes abundantly clear to him. She leans in, curls her fingers around his wrist, looks at his lips. He clears his throat, forces himself to stay back. "You leave tomorrow. What is there to lose?"

As he takes a deep breath, she moves closer, and he can't help but reach out across the distance to slide his hand round her hip on the little stool so close to his, anchor himself to her. He sees how her gaze flits between his lips and his eyes and back again, and when he leans in, she meets him halfway, mouth against his own.

He feels her inhale sharply the moment their lips touch, and there's a quiet couple of beats where they just sit there, holding their breaths. And then her mouth moves just the tiniest bit against his and he is lost, entirely.  
He pulls her closer, hears her moan quietly against him, feels her open her mouth and run her tongue along his lips until he lets her in willingly. She tastes like spice and the muted tang of vodka, and her hands slipping round his neck are hot and searing in their touch. Her fingers clutch at his hair, tug his head down to hers, and he just lets her explore while he keeps his hand slipped round her waist, rubbing up and down against the small of her back and moving to gently squeeze her hip. She shudders a little against him, apparently at the touch, and he only repeats it.

When she pulls back, she presses her face into his shoulder, brushes her lips against his neck as she breathes open-mouthed and gasping. He waits for a couple of seconds, seeing if reality will come crashing down, if all those things he should probably do will overpower his urge to stay right where he is, with Sarah, but nothing happens, no change of heart. Honestly, the way his pulse is racing right now, he knows there was never a chance of that. He can't help but feel like right now, he's exactly where he's meant to be.  
He nudges Sarah lightly to get her to pull back and look at him, hoping it calms him down and relaxes him when her mouth isn't on his skin, but with just one look at her flushed ruffled appearance, his calm shatters. He slips down off the chair, brushing up against her half-intentionally and grabbing for her hand to help her down. God, he wants to kiss her again so desperately, but he waits, holds out, watches her scoop up her things and rifle around in her purse before pulling out what he guesses is her room key.

"Lead the way." he murmurs, somehow controlled when he feels anything but. She smiles, eyes dark, and his head spins again as that feeling in his stomach rises even more.

She takes his hand again and tugs him along to the elevators, and he lets his eyes roam over her as she strides far ahead, shoes loud against the marble floor of the lobby. The car takes forever to arrive and they stand in front of both doors to hop into whichever one turns up first, hands still locked together but each clearly as impatient as the other. He can almost feel himself trembling with anticipation, the air is that intense right now, that weighted. Sarah's hand is hot in his.

When one of the doors eventually slides slowly open with a muted ding, the elevator is mercifully empty, and he stumbles inside, dragging Sarah along with him. They barrel into one of the walls, pressed together, and the metal rail jars his elbow as he lands, but he doesn't care because suddenly Sarah's leaning all up against him, a little gasping and breathless, all curves and heat and limbs. She has the good thought to press a button and let the doors slip shut as they begin a torturously slow ascent, helpful since, with the heat of their kiss still in his mind, Chuck is more preoccupied with sweeping her hair to the side and tentatively brushing his lips over her neck, because he knows if his mouth finds hers again right now he's not sure they'll ever make it to her room.

"I've..." she breathes, voice reverberating through her throat and onto his lips where he's currently tasting her. She keeps trying to speak but her voice is husky and her hand is in his hair, pressing him down against her skin as he gets bolder, so she evidently doesn't intend on him responding. "I don't normally do this, with strangers." she gets out, eventually, the last word trailing off into a groan that should spur him on more, but instead he pulls away, shifting to get to her eye-level.

"We're not strangers!" he says, instantly, but she somehow sends him a flat look despite the flustered impatience on her face. "Okay, yeah, we're kinda strangers. Would you… rather not do this?"  
He gets it, and frankly, he thinks he used to feel like that, like nights spent with a stranger aren't worth it, there can be so little connection. He may have changed his mind, tonight, in fact, but if Sarah feels differently then he won't go on.

"No, no I want this," she presses, turning around, eyes dark, still flushed. "But we're still strangers- maybe not in the conventional sense of the word..." Her tone is teasing, the glint in her eyes even more so, but for once he doesn't bite.

He strokes her shoulder, thinks on her words, because they're true for him too, though not in the way she's meaning. Sure, they only met a couple hours ago, but strangers don't know about Captain Awesome, and he doesn't know how strangers' eyes crinkle when they laugh or how their blushes rise up their face a certain way. He _knows_ Sarah, somehow, impossibly, he just... does. He hums, tilts his head.  
"What's your last name?"

She pauses, visibly. She probably thinks he doesn't notice, or that he passes it off as something else, but he can see the blip of uncertainty in her eyes, he can hear the hitch of her breath in the closed space of the elevator which is somehow still climbing. And then it fades, and she breathes out.  
"Walker."

"Hi Sarah Walker, I'm Chuck Bartowski. There," He grins, shakes his head. "Not strangers."

Chuckling, she smiles back at him.  
"Chuck Bartowski?" He's about to make another dumb shoe remark about his name, so ridiculous in comparison to hers, but she continues. "Okay, Chuck Bartowski. Shut up and kiss me."

He wants to agree, obey, pull her closer, but the doors open just as his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline somewhere, and he's sure the pairing would be comical if he weren't so very turned on right now. Sarah merely takes his hand again, something she seems to like doing, and tugs him out the elevator into the carpeted hallway, leading him down to her room. She walks backward, facing him the whole time and stepping slowly, her eyes still hooded and burning, and he's aching for her by the time she finally stops at a door marked 327. The moment she turns away and her gaze breaks from his, her hand slipping away, he finds just can't take the distance anymore.

He reaches his hands round to the front of her hips, and when she doesn't move him away, slowly wraps them round her stomach, pulls him into her, his mouth headed right back to her neck again because honestly her skin tastes amazing, somehow, and he's so so addicted already. He can feel her go slack, tilt her head away from him and open up the space even more, relaxing her back against his chest and letting her arms fall to her sides, keycard useless between her fingers, and a thrill runs through him as the reality of the situation kicks in.

"Chuck..." He hears her breathe, half a moan that sends his blood rushing south, spurred on by her pressing back against him. He somehow pulls away, just a little, breathes in and out and in and out, heavily, but keeps her held flush against him.

"I think we should move this inside before some other guests get a show."

Though she agrees, it's with a huffed breath, and when her warmth leaves his front so she can lean forward and open the door, he shares her frustration. Letting Sarah Walker go when she's in his arms is apparently the most difficult thing in the world.

The moment he's in her room and the door's clicked shut, she tackles him. His back slams against the door and her mouth lands on his, insistent, hot, intent. He gasps as her lips move, frantic, almost overwhelmed by how determined she is, and he just leans back. He feels her every curve, strokes the soft fabric of her dress and the heat beneath her skin, the smoothness of her bare legs, the muscles that flex under his touch. Her hands are no strangers either, he feels them tug up his shirt, travel across his exposed stomach, slip round his back. Her touch is searing and scalding just like her mouth and oh he wants this, wants this burning heat to stay with him forever.

She pulls back briefly, looking even more flustered than before, skin red and blushing, hair hazy, glitter still spread all round her face now and likely, all over his too.  
"Hold on." she mutters before bending down and fiddling with the clasps on her ridiculously high shoes. He doesn't know how she's managed to walk in them, let alone balance well enough on them now to undo the buckles, but if he's learnt anything in the few hours he's known her it's that Sarah is pretty damn incredible.

He slips his own shoes off whilst she's busy, anything to occupy himself and stop from lunging right at her, but he's struggling by the time she kicks both heels away and raises a hand, pauses a moment, apparently thinking.

"You okay?"

She nods, flashes him a smile.  
"Just a second."

With an almost embarrassing but thankfully quiet groan, he leans back against the door from where he'd instinctively reached out to her again, and watches as she heads to a suitcase leaning against a fancy wardrobe. She rifles round in the front pocket before tugging out a handful of condoms, and she turns to him, as if waiting for him to object, say something. He just eyes her, staying against the door though he wants to rush toward her and kiss her all over again, and she nods, tosses the condoms onto the bedside table as she saunters back over to him. He wants to make a quip about the quantity to see if it would make her chuckle, but really, he's only got the one old condom stuffed into his every day wallet so long a little ring has started to appear through the leather fold, and he certainly hadn't expected to get laid tonight so he hadn't brought anymore. That Sarah is prepared, he's pretty grateful for, and also increasingly turned on by because, yeah, this really is happening right now, and multiple condoms imply just what she's perhaps wanting here, and he would be all too happy to oblige, and wow, Chuck is pretty sure this might be the best night of his life.

She sends him a smile as she walks back to him, a couple inches shorter now, and though the grin is just happy and open, he can see in her eyes that she's about to tackle him again, take the lead, but he's aching to touch her once more and oh, he wants to do some exploring of his own now.

He grasps at her hips and swings her round, mouth meeting hers mid-movement, then presses her up against the door she'd had him leaning on minutes ago. Her legs lock around his waist and he guesses he must've had her in the air to have her lips at the same level as his with their height difference now more pronounced, and the feel of her holding onto him somehow turns him on even more. He kisses her slower than she'd kissed him, wanting to taste every groove and curve and slope of her mouth, wanting to suck on her lips lazily, wanting to brush his tongue against hers. After minutes, hours, hell, he doesn't know, she moans- no, _whimpers_ \- into his mouth, and he can't help but feel lightheaded at the sound as he hears and feels it. He sets her down but doesn't break his lips from hers, just bends down a little more and feels her smile into the kiss. He drags his hands down her sides, slowly, smoothly, and by the time he reaches her hips he feels her pressed up flush against him, evidently impatient. Hitching up her dress, he smirks when he feels her gasp against him as his hands circle her ass with a gentle squeeze. Suddenly, her own hands are at the bottom of his shirt again, this time tugging up and up and bunching it around his middle where it stops only due to his arms and even then certainly not for Sarah's lack of trying. He's loathe to move from her but he does, only briefly, to step back and pull the shirt off and throw it away.

"Where was... I..."  
He swallows.

Sarah's staring at his now-bare chest with a hunger he hadn't thought possible, her eyes tearing their way over him rapidly. Her lipstick is smudged, her dress crooked, one side still hooked up over her hip where he'd left it and giving him a clear view of her dark lace underwear. She is positively the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

When she slides her hands over his chest and pulls him back in for a kiss, she's less desperate too this time, and more languid, savouring. He grins against her even as his hands travel south once more, with purpose this time, tugging up the skirt of her dress and bunching it around her hips before his hands slip under her underwear. She gasps into his mouth at his touch, and he tries to suppress a groan at the sensations but doesn't really succeed.  
If what he's feeling is any guess, she's just as turned on right now as he is, and he feels her bite his lip and go soft in his arms as he begins to work against her. He pulls back from her mouth only to taste her skin once more, to trail kisses down her neck, on her collarbone, and then kneels to join his hand, kissing her thighs and her hips. He looks up before he goes any further, sends her a questioning look, but she just stares down at him, chest heaving with ragged breaths, hair messy, and nods, and as he kisses her skin again she moans. It's the hottest thing he's ever heard, he's sure. He feels the heat that emanates from her after a while, sees the sheen appearing on her brow when he casts a look upwards and finds her head pressed back against the door and her eyes shut tight. Her fingers tug in his hair, twist themselves round the curls he'd fought with his trainers to keep atop his head, and she falls apart minutes later, a leg propped up on his shoulder, and moaning, gasping, for breath.

"Chuck-"

He looks back up at her, startled and turned on at the low way she says his name, all flustered and breathless and sounding so lost in heady bliss, and the look in her gaze makes his toes curl and his pants feel tighter at the same time. He tugs her underwear back up round her hips as best he can when she's looking at him with eyes so dark.

"Come here."

Even as she says it she still seems a little out of it, a little stunned, and he sees her legs quivering a little as she pulls lightly on his hair and drags him up to her. She kisses him slowly, so so slowly, pulling back only to press kisses to his jaw his neck his shoulder his chest, somehow sweetly despite the arousal still hanging heavy in the air, though he can't figure out why. She steps into him, one hand pressed against his sternum whilst her other arm wraps round his shoulder and her lips brush his again. He wonders idly if she can feel just how quickly his heart is racing in this easy brief reprieve they've slipped into.  
When her hands drift lower and reach for his belt, though, the simple sweetness shatters, and need fills him instantly. He lets her undo it, lets her open the buttons on his jeans, too, lets her push them down, and when he's standing there in just his boxers, he lets her stare for a moment as well. But he's there in just his underwear while Sarah's in a full if bunched-up dress, underwear still on if askew, and he feels just a little like that's not particularly fair.

She reaches for the hem of her dress just as he does, and they end up pushing it up and over her head together. As they toss the dress away, his eyes flit down to her chest reflexively, seeing a patterned bra that makes a matching set, and he pulls her in for another kiss as he reaches to undo it. A quick check at the back informs him it's a front clasp, and with a little wrangling he's slipped it open and pushed the item down her shoulders to land on the floor with a dull thud.

He feels her turn them round, step him back to where the bed must be, but honestly he hasn't been looking at anything in the room except for her even as she'd walked around. So he just lets her pull him away, teasing her mouth with his own, and when she pulls back and he opens his eyes, she's standing between him and the bed expectantly, naked from the waist up and frankly almost naked below, her remaining underwear still slung uselessly low on her hips. She doesn't shrink away under his gaze, only flushes a bit and stares right back at him with widening hungry eyes. He's not sure what look he's sending her but it must convey just how much he wants this, wants her, right now because oh, it's a hell of a lot.

" _God_. You're so beautiful, Sarah." he murmurs, before he's even aware of it.

She blinks, and he kisses her quickly and lifts her by the hips and sets her far back on the bed, her head near the pillows, then crawls up on top of her. She looks up at him, blinking, her hair fanned out around her head and a small flushed smile on her lips.

"Hi," she says quietly, with a grin, so cute all of a sudden his heart skips a beat because wow, that cute smile aimed at him while she lies almost naked right below him is almost too much to take.

"Hi." he replies, before leaning in and nudging his nose against hers. She tilts her head up for an open-mouthed kiss but he feels her hands on his hips at the same moment, playing with the elastic of his boxers before slipping them down. He kicks them off and reaches for her underwear, the only remaining piece of cloth separating them, only to find she's got them in her hands already and is tossing them aside. There's a spark in her eyes when she next looks at him, a determined glint, and she rolls him onto his back with no further messing around, reaching for a condom and dealing with it before he can even try to. He can't blame her focus, he rather needs it too right now.

She kisses him as her hips sink down and suddenly she's surrounding him in warmth and he curses into her mouth because the sensation should not feel that good, it can't feel that good. When he rolls his hips, she pulls back and rests her forehead against his, eyes sliding shut as she gasps and starts to move along with him.  
It's slow, heavy, he can hear every gasp and moan and keening whimper that falls from Sarah's mouth so deliciously. He can hear the soft slipping sounds of his skin against hers, the crinkling of the crisp sheets, the dull thuds of the bed against the wall every now and then. At some point, he rolls them over and takes the lead and when he opens his eyes for just a second he sees Sarah lying writhing against the bed, breathtaking, skin dewy, glitter still in her hair, and her eyes shut tight until she evidently feels him pause in awe above her and she peels one open, gulps a breath.

"Something wrong?"

Literally absolutely nothing whatsoever. Nothing has ever been less wrong, at this moment, Chuck thinks.  
He leans down, brushes his lips against hers.

"Nope,"

She smirks beneath him.  
"Then please don't stop now,"

He has to suppress a laugh at the force in her tone, the strained edge he feels too because this is perfect, building and destroying at the same time and he loves it.

He keeps going, moves getting more frantic as her gasps and moans get more frequent, louder, more demanding and rushed, and he feels her pull him down, closer, her head next to his. His mouth quickly finds a home right next to her ear, and something about that makes her lock her legs round his waist and pull him in further and god, she feels amazing, sounds amazing, her moans building and building up, and all he can think of is her.

"Sarah-" is all he manages to press out through his teeth, before pressing his lips against her jaw, overwhelmed by her, drowning in her, and she quakes and trembles in his arms with a sudden loud groan. He follows her, drowned. Spent.

* * *

The faint ringing of his phone wakes him around 9am, and he jolts awake with a shock, sitting upright. There's no need to work out where he is, try and recall the events of last night, because he already knows, already remembers right away. Like he'd ever forget Sarah Walker.

She's asleep next to him still, curled up face-down, the bare smooth expanse of her back exposed where the sheet is nestled by her hips. He didn't think it was possible but she looks even more beautiful in the light of day, easy peace on her features, hair shining in the morning light.

The phone is still ringing annoyingly, though, and he casts his eyes around the room to find wherever his jeans landed. They're in a corner, a crumpled rumpled mess, one of Sarah's shoes tossed on top of them though he has no clue how, since he's sure the shoes came off before the jeans. He sees his phone is peeking out of the pocket, though, and he's just located his boxers and slipped off the bed to slide them on when Ellie's name fades from the screen and the call drops.

He sees two more previous missed calls when he finally grabs his cell, and they're all from his sister. He winces.

"Hey El," he says, softly, once he's dialed her himself and she's picked up, midway through the first ring.

"God, are you okay, Chuck? I woke up this morning and found _Morgan_ passed out drunk in your room, and he says he has no idea where you went last night."

He looks over to Sarah but she still seems out of it, sleeping blissfully beautifully. He keeps speaking quietly anyway, just in case.  
"Yeah, that would be because he got so drunk last night he thought his shirt needed a new home on the dancefloor. I'm fine, El, I left Morgan with his buddies when I... bumped into a friend."

He can practically see Ellie frown across the phone.  
"You have friends in Burbank other than Morgan, who also happened to be in the same club as you last night?"

"I have you," he says, deflecting and answering only the first part of her question though he's not sure why. God-sister-zilla Ellie may used to have been, but ever since he moved east she's had very little involvement in his love life and honestly, Chuck would rather it stay that way. A single life in D.C. as an analyst has been miles better than the awkward life he'd had in LA being set up with Ellie's doctor friends even in just the few months he'd gone home after college before officially starting at the CIA. She'd thought he'd needed to move on after his breakup with Jill, but since that was a mutual we-have-different-career-plans decision (aka, she dumped him but he'd at least had the promise of the CIA to get him through it), he'd been pretty happy to just keep getting by. Ellie, not so much. She'd subtly had friends over, been 'busy' at the hospital and left a colleague to greet him, handed him numbers of girls from the gym, hell, even Awesome had recommended a couple people. If there's one thing Chuck can remember clearly from his pre-CIA life, it's that Ellie can try her damnedest to get what she wants, and she doesn't like failing at that. He loves her for it, but when his love life is at stake, he likes to keep the distance sometimes.

"Sisters don't count, who's the friend, Chuck?"

He rubs his forehead, still a little too tired for such a conversation this early in the morning when he and Sarah had had anything but an early night the night before, plus there was the extra round when they'd both stirred at 4am, which left him shattered in more than just a sleepy way. He gives in to Ellie, just a little, knowing she'll put the pieces together.  
"She's called Sarah."

"She's- Oh. _Oh_ , god, okay, uh, I understand. Is she-? Y'know, never mind." He tries not to laugh at Ellie's floundering, and she clears her throat. "Just don't let this Sarah make you forget your flight back is tonight, then."

"I know, sis. I'll be back soon and we can have lunch before I go, okay?"

"Okay little brother, I love you."

"Love you too, El."  
He ends the call with another sigh. He wants to go back to D.C., wants to finish his damn training and get out in the field already, he does, but where being an analyst for the CIA equated to 'working a government desk job' to Ellie, being a spy means the real lies have to start, lying about where he is, what he's done, and he's not sure how he feels about that. He wants this promotion, wants to do good and save lives and help people, and he's still pleased his analyst work garnered any attention at all let alone grounds for promotion, but it's still tough. Still dangerous. Still comes with a gun, which he'll never be comfortable with. And still involves lying to his friends and his sister, the woman who raised him when his parents abandoned ship.

"Was that your sister- Ellie?"

He almost jumps out of his skin. Almost. It's yet another testament to how much his spy training has affected him because really, Sarah pretty much scares the life out of him at that very moment. But, he keeps his dignity somewhat intact by only screaming a tiny bit, even though that's enough to make Sarah laugh, apparently, which she does, leaning forward on the bed with a giant grin and a chuckle and making his mind go blank because she's still completely naked.

"Jesus, Sarah, you scared the crap outta me." he says a moment later when coherent thoughts have returned to him.

"I guessed that." she says, still laughing, reaching up to wipe her eyes. He'd feel more embarrassed but she's far too lovely to feel awkward around for any great length of time.

"And yeah, it was her. Like I said, I'm the younger brother, she worries."

Sarah smiles again. It makes his stomach flip.  
"That's nice. It must be nice to... to have someone, who looks out for you like that."

The thought of all the lies to come swarms him again and he wonders just how good his acting is when he merely shrugs.  
"I don't get to see her as often as I should."

The acting evidently isn't that great, because Sarah just frowns and steps off the bed and makes her way across to him, slipping her arms round his waist. He wasn't sure what would happen this morning, how embarrassed or awkward they both might be, how they'd handle things the morning after in so many ways. But it feels so natural, so normal, like there's been no difference at all and it's both wonderful and sad at the same time because Chuck knows he'll have to leave here soon, leave her, fly back to an empty lonely apartment in D.C., and become Agent Charles Carmichael, a completely different person. And he'll never see Sarah again.

"Chuck..." She presses a light kiss to his chest and it warms him so incredibly, tingles spreading through his limbs as he holds her shoulders. "You don't know what I'd give to have someone like that out there for me."  
She sends him a wry smile but there's such sadness in her eyes that he can only lean in and kiss her in some attempt to make her smile so wonderfully again. He doesn't know much about her family, last night she only implied she didn't have much of one and moved on and he'd happily left it at that, but he wonders if Sarah Walker's past is just as confusing and painful as his own is, maybe.

Sure enough though, when he pulls back she's smiling at him all warm again, and he grins back in return, feeling his nose crinkle again. He needs to get it under control, truly, but damn, Sarah's got an uncanny ability to just make him want to grin from ear to ear.

"When do you need to leave to head back to your sister's?"

He could do the math, try and actually work out how long it'll take him to get from here back to Echo Park, but he doesn't really remember quite where Sarah's hotel is, he'd been too distracted looking at her and talking in the back of the cab last night to pay much attention, and really, right now he just wants to spend a little more time with her.

And so, he shrugs.  
"Couple hours."

Her grin smoothly turns wicked, and he likes it very much.  
"We've got time."

Suddenly incredibly aware that she's completely naked and still holding him, he reaches down and grips her waist, bringing her up to his height again before kissing her. She laughs, hooks her legs round him, and he stumbles back to the bed. They've got time.

* * *

He sighs as he steps over the threshold, running a hand through his still-damp hair from the shower that of course took a different direction to the one he'd quite intended when Sarah had joined him. He smells like lavender or whatever else was in the free hotel shampoo Sarah had let him use, and it's weird and unfamiliar, but it had done the trick, his curls are clean and soon to dry in some crazy animal shaped way he's sure Ellie will laugh at when she sees him. He smirks at the thought of his hair.  
He'd had it longer at Stanford, curls clinging to his head, and he'd hoped to keep them that way when he'd joined the agency. They'd grown for a while, in fact, right up on his head, and some of the other analysts had laughed at them sometimes, pointing out the weird shapes and styles his hair could make. His first training session to be a field operative, though, and he'd been demanded a haircut. After many, many battles, they'd settled for a more reserved approach on the sides, swept and groomed, and curls still free on the top. It takes him ages to tame them the right way every day, and he can't lie and say he doesn't miss the easier college days of just letting his appearance be whatever. Today, though, he'd been far too distracted by Sarah even after the shower to even focus on his hair.

She steps out too, leans on the doorjamb and sends him a small tight smile. She's only wearing a robe, slipped on after their shower where he'd had to pull on last night's clothes and settle for having to do a walk of shame to head back to Ellie and Awesome's apartment. Sarah had offered him a sweater she'd pulled from her suitcase, but he'd said cashmere wasn't really his thing and she'd laughed at the joke. He wishes she was laughing now.

"This was..." he starts, then stops, because how do you explain to the woman you've just spent the best night (and morning) of your life with, that you've just spend the best night (and morning) of your life with her, especially after only just meeting her? All Chuck knows is that he's glad he went to that crappy club with Morgan after all. "Just... I'm sorry, that I have to go, and that you don't even live here, it... It sucks. I kinda want to get to know you better, y'know?"

She folds her arms, the way she curls into them telling him it's not in disagreement or defence, but more to protect herself, seemingly. To keep it in.  
"I know. I... I feel the same way,"

It would never work between them, of course, he's about to become a spy for god's sake, how could he ever settle down with someone as normal but incredible as Sarah? She's perfect, but she's not a spy, and if his training has taught him anything more than just to not freak out when beautiful women surprise you, it's that spy life and civilian life never mix well. That's why he has to lie to Ellie, that's why he can't be with Sarah.

He wants to say something else, wants to tell her that he really, really, likes her, that she's perfect and if the situation were ever changed he'd be with her in a heartbeat. Instead, he just shrugs, tilts his head as he looks at her.  
"Thank you."

She doesn't seem to need to ask what for, and he's glad, because explaining quite what she's come to mean to him in such a short space of time besides being the most beautiful woman he's ever laid eyes on and the most incredible person he's ever met, plus an amazing kisser to boot, explaining that would just make things even sadder and weirder than they already are.

She nods, and he's about to turn around, to smile and leave and head back to Ellie's feeling sad and crappy, but before he can move Sarah steps toward him slowly and he's paralyzed by the intent in her gaze. She reaches up, cups his jaw and pulls him down to her, and she kisses him.

It's slow, soft, with none of the heat of last night or this morning or a half hour ago in the shower, just full of warmth. It feels affectionate, fond, and above all, familiar. He knows her already, knows the touch of her beneath his hands, knows her taste, knows how great her lips feel when they're slowly moving over his. He loves it, loves _this_ , god does he want more of this more than anything. He just holds her tight and hopes she never lets go.  
She does.

When she pulls away and he peels open his eyes, so slowly just to let the moment sink in, the look in her own eyes is startling. It's sadness and remorse and bitterness and affection and lust and contentment all in one, and he has no clue what it means.

She raises a shoulder in a half-shrug.  
"Goodbye, Chuck."

Maybe the look meant that, goodbye, but he can't believe that, can't take it, not when that affection and familiarity was laced so heavily within it. So he sends her the biggest smile he can muster up.  
"I'll see you later, Sarah."

He won't see her later, she knows that, and he definitely knows it, but he still has to have something, some hope that walking away isn't as crazy a thing to do as he feels it is right now.  
He turns, and leaves, and has to stop himself from turning around to see if she watches him go, because he has absolutely no idea what he'd do if she does.

* * *

"You can take a seat, Agent Carmichael, I'll let Director Graham know you're here."

He smiles politely at the secretary who looks alarmingly similar to Devon, and takes a seat facing the door, sitting straight, upright. They're habits his instructors have drilled into him the past few months, always be aware, know your exits, be prepared to run, and though he knows sitting outside the Director's office is probably the safest place to be in the whole of the CIA headquarters, so heavily guarded as it is, Chuck keeps up the guise. Because frankly, he's anxious as hell, and it's all he has right now.  
He's here to meet his partner. He's here to get his first real assignment. He's here to be a spy.

As he waits, he lets his mind drift to that somehow comforting night and morning two months ago that have never really left his thoughts since they happened. He might look well-trained on the outside, but really, Sarah Walker is the most distracting thing he knows when he thinks about her, and he thinks about her a lot. Hell, if he hadn't been thinking about her for reassurance during his Red Test maybe he'd have actually shot his mark rather than misfired and hit the guy's knee. He hit his head on a rock when he fell to the ground and died instantly. The agency called it a success, Chuck called it very dumb luck he was incredibly grateful for because the idea of killing someone will always turn his stomach. Even just shooting someone in the knee felt off to him, awful. But either way, two weeks later here he is, waiting for a meeting with the Director himself and his new partner.

He never knew if he'd like a partner, really, even though he knew going into this that his training wouldn't cover everything an agent plucked from youth and drilled through The Farm would know, everything he'd have gotten had he been properly recruited right out of Stanford instead of what really happened to him. He'll be the tech side to a duo, the other half being some mysterious agent sat not so far away on just the other side of the door here, with the ability to kick some serious ass. They're gonna be well-trained, experienced, accomplished, hence why the higher-ups handed Chuck his Red Test so early on in his field agent career; they needed him to be somewhere on the same level as his partner. But the whole partner thing still feels odd to him even now- the idea of relying on someone that much and having them rely on you contradicts so many ideas he's been taught in this game. Spies don't have feelings, spies don't make connections, spies look out for themselves. Unless, apparently, they have a partner, and that all goes out the window. He knows he's not that hardened a spy, not yet, anyway, and he doubts he'll have trouble trusting someone to have his back. What he's more concerned about, is if his new partner will have trouble trusting _him_. They'll be the hardened one, the experienced one, and in the few encounters with seasoned spies that Chuck's had so far, he's realized one thing, they don't warm up to people easily.

Another few minutes pass and he finds himself thinking of Sarah again as he futzes with his phone, spinning it round and round, moving his fingers from corner to corner and turning it around absentmindedly. He wonders what she's doing right now.  
Is she back in LA, about to go hit up some clubs tonight with those supermodel friends of hers, or is she back wherever she lives, she never said, he realized a week later. Or, is she traveling for the job she skipped on the details about and only mentioned took her from place to place. He doesn't really know much about Sarah Walker at all, and yet, he still feels he knows her better than he knows anything else. Anyone else.

When he's safe and alone and locked in his apartment, he allows himself to think about that last kiss, that goodbye, or that hope, depending on which way he looks at it. It's the one thing he just can't think about in the field because it just breaks down every single one of his defences. He thinks now he's pretty sure Sarah didn't mean it as goodbye, not with such a look on her face, not with the softness and tenderness with which she'd kissed him, oh so aching, but it definitely meant something. It almost meant everything.  
Shaking his head, he presses the thoughts from his mind. He doesn't know how it's possible to have feelings for someone you only met once, how it's possible to miss someone you spent all of 12 hours with, and yet here he is, waiting for the most important CIA meeting of his life, maybe the most important meeting of his life, period, and he's thinking about Sarah.

Two months of these distractions, and he's no longer surprised.

"Agent Carmichael?" the receptionist asks, looking over at him. Chuck snaps out of his thoughts. "You can wait outside the door, the Director will let you in shortly."

"Thanks." he mutters, not as friendly as he'd like because spies aren't really meant to be friendly. He wipes his palms surreptitiously as he stands, because they're clammy from nerves and distracted thoughts right now and he knows he's about to shake the hand of the person who's probably gonna save his life a good dozen times. First impressions can mean the world in this game.

He can hear a voice as he makes his way to the door, increasing in volume the closer he gets. It's Graham; he recognizes the low booming tone from the couple times he's met the man, the last being when he passed Chuck and one of his trainers in the hall a couple months ago. From what Chuck's gathered, the Director isn't a very sociable type, so his being called here for a meeting with the man just to meet his partner tells Chuck this is a big deal.

"...I know you're still reluctant after what happened with the CAT Squad, but Agent Rizzo's apparent betrayal was years ago, you need to work with someone else again-" The Director cuts off, interrupted, but when he starts again he doesn't sound particularly mad like Chuck would expect at such insubordination, just sighs and continues. "Those were single missions, like you asked, and yes they were very successful, but you know how unconventional they were, and we both know how close a couple of them came. I've granted you years going from partner to partner, you need a permanent one, someone you can come to trust."

There's a pause. Chuck thinks the other agent must be speaking again, but just like before, they're quieter than Graham, less needing of authority than the head of the agency is, and Chuck can't hear their words.

"I know. But he's a good agent, and very promising. Green, yes, and you'll need to watch his back far more than he'll need to watch yours," Chuck would be affronted at that but he knows it's the truth. "But he's got the skills you've been lacking- he's got technical knowledge you'd struggle to find elsewhere, I promise you. I think you'll work well together."

Another pause appears, and apparently Chuck's new partner is arguing a little more, but he can't really blame them. They don't know his Red Test was a complete fluke and he knows passing it at all is probably the only thing he's got going for him on his resume, without that he's a tech nerd who worked behind a desk all his life until six months ago.

Graham's tone gets a little quieter but it's still audible, just about.  
"Just try him out. Go on a couple of missions, if he's not the right fit, I can find someone else. Nobody as good, but there are some other options. At the end of the day, I'll just keep trying. You're too valuable an agent to lose just because you didn't know your partner well enough."

Chuck hears a grunt and what he thinks might be a "Fine.", so that's promising.  
He takes a few steps back, shuffling away as he hears Graham's own steps getting nearer, and plasters on a polite but very nervous smile in preparation. The door clicks open and Graham smiles and nods at him, blocking the office behind from Chuck's view.

"Agent Carmichael," he says, "I'd like you to meet Agent Walker."  
Blinking, Chuck just about manages to keep his face calm and controlled because all he thinks of when someone says that name is Sarah. He moves past the Director, looks into the office.

Sarah.  
It's Sarah, _Sarah_ , who's standing right in front of him, _Sarah_. In a neat black suit, hands held in front of her, frame tight and eyes burning with a thousand questions but, god, he's got a few himself right now. He only just keeps his knees from giving way, only just keeps his breath steady and even, because of everything he needed today, seeing Sarah was both the thing he needed most and least.

And then it dawns on him. Oh crap, she's going to be-

"Your new partner."

* * *

 **a/n 2:** Gasp. Okay, y'all probably saw that coming, but the journey's half the fun! And now I can say the real initial premise for this fic and why I wanted to write it: I wanted to know, how would Chuck and Sarah navigate being partners after sleeping together? Having explored that in the next chapters, I find it's a pretty fun trip.  
Feel free to leave a review and let me know what you thought, I really do appreciate each and every one.

-Kiera :)


	2. Barcelona

**summary:** On his last night home in LA before becoming a field agent, Chuck finds himself begrudgingly dragged to a nightclub, all thanks to Morgan. But what he meets there, or rather, who he meets there, is about to change his life, and his future spy career, in ways he can't possibly imagine. Partnered up, Chuck and Sarah have to navigate the spy life, missions, their memories of that fateful night, and a whole lot of feelings. AU.

 **a/n:** Hello! Wow! I was totally bowled over by your reactions to the first chapter, you were all so kind and wanting more, and I'm so happy people are enjoying this! I just really really hope y'all like the direction this fic is gonna take (note the extended summary above, I didn't wanna change the initial one and spoil the first chapter for anyone who comes across it, lol). I saw some of your questions in reviews, things you wanna know or pointed out, and I assure you, everything will make sense, in time. I'm trying to make everything feel as natural and organic as possible, so things might take a little time to come out, details, background. I hope you'll stick with me for this ride, I think it gets pretty fun.  
This chapter picks right up where we left off, so with no further rambles, enjoy. If you liked it, please let me know and leave a review!  
 **disclaimer:** I don't own Chuck, fancy villas, unamused old dudes, or airplanes that take an ambiguous time to reach their destination.

* * *

 **september**

His first thought is to run. To just turn on his heel and walk right out the door and leave and quite possibly quit this job altogether. Because he can't process this, can't believe that Sarah is standing here right in front of him, after all this time. And he can't reconcile the joy at just seeing her again with the punch to the gut of the fact that she's a spy, a good spy, the muscle side of the partnership he's about to enter and that- oh _god_ , she's going to be his new partner. He slept with his new partner before he even met her. He'd laugh at the ridiculousness of this situation if it weren't so completely terrifying.

The silence begins to spread in the office, as he stares at her, she stares at him. Eventually, Graham blinks, and Chuck's brain kicks back in again.

"It's nice to meet you, Agent Walker." he says, not really lying for the director's sake, because Chuck hasn't met Agent Walker until now, he knows. He met Sarah, made her laugh and moan and curl up into his side as they slept, and the woman in front of him now seems strictly professional, tense, and far removed from that person he'd fallen for.  
And he knows he's just the same. He's wearing a mask right now, slipped into a suit that Chuck Bartowski would never wear but Charles Carmichael struts about in on a daily basis, essentially playing a cover. So maybe, his new partner is wearing one too. The question is, he muses, whether Sarah was the mask, or if Agent Walker is.

She raises an eyebrow, presumably at his repeated introduction, but follows his we-don't-know-each-other lead.  
"Likewise, Agent Carmichael." Her voice sounds more or less the same. Oh, that voice, the one he's thought about, hell, dreamed about, for months, is suddenly by his side again, except it's professional now, controlled. He supposes he gets it, they're at work, after all, but it's still strange, disconcerting, to not hear that warmth he'd gotten used to, the smile.

Lost on what to do, he reaches out a hand, offers it to her. Her fingers slip past his as they shake hands, brief and curt and by-the-book, normal, before they pull away again. But though her touch is just feather-light, the exchange so so short, Chuck still feels the spark between their skin, the familiarity. He curses it.

"Please, Charles." he corrects, knowing Graham is expecting this to be natural, not stilted. Though offering a first name should be normal in this kind of meeting, right now it feels slimy to even say it, to correct her like that, to demand a name he barely even responds to after a lifetime of Chuck. After Chuck was the name she'd cried out into his ear, breathed against his skin while they were tangled up together. He sees her blink, can see her cracking a little as if that was unexpected, and he wants to take his words back because she looks a little sad and confused, but he just moves on. He has to move on. "I look forward to working with you."

"Well then, now that the introductions are over with I expect you'll both be wanting your orders." Graham says, clapping his hands together and snapping Chuck out the little bubble he'd apparently been in with Sarah. The director doesn't seem to have made them yet, but it's early. Chuck doesn't know if he can hold out here forever.

This was supposed to be easy, this was supposed to be simple. Get a new partner, meet, go on a mission, that's that.  
And somehow, now, it's the most complicated it could be.

He takes a seat across from Graham, right next to Sarah. She hesitates a little before moving back to sit down again, he sees, just out the corner of his eye, and with a flare of remorse in his chest he realizes she's maybe just as freaked out by this as he is. She's uncomfortable, at least, just a little. He can't spot her tells as easily as he could that night, but there's a slight tension in her frame that he can see as she sits, spine straight, shoulders back.  
Apparently, he did too great a job of being Chuck Bartowski, being himself, and she seemingly didn't suspect this about him. The feeling's mutual.

Graham hands them both a file each, and as he rambles on Chuck thumbs through the pages, wondering, absentmindedly, if he's actually here, right now, doing this. The papers are a little distraction, there's a flight manifest, a big swanky Spanish villa, mug shots of various henchmen, floor plans, that kind of thing. He should be excited, he thinks, or nervous, or apprehensive, looking through this, about to go on his first real mission, but he just feels a little empty, a little sick, a little cold.  
Sarah had lied to him. And he'd lied to her. And the simplest easiest most exciting interaction of his life was just one big lie that's starting to spiral rapidly at this moment. He doesn't know where they could possibly go from here.

"You fly out to Barcelona tomorrow," Graham continues, gesturing to the files. "The weapon is in a vault and that, Carmichael, is where you come in."

Chuck raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement as his name is called, and reels in his thoughts, flicking to another page in the file. The vault is outlined in schematics, the two layers of cyber security protecting it explained in detail. Provided the information is correct, it shouldn't be too tricky, he can whip up an algorithm tailored to it the moment he gets access to a computer- that is, if he can get his mind off Sarah _being a spy_ first, which seems unlikely at this point.

"Carmichael will access the vault, then Agent Walker, you'll collect the weapon, and you'll both exit through the basement next to the vault, getting the weapon as far away from Ramirez as possible."

"How long will you take?"

He tries not to jump at Sarah's voice, so sudden, cutting through the haze in his brain, and instead turns to her only to find her looking right at him, eyebrow raised expectantly, waiting like there's nothing weird about this right now at all. Her patient expression is so similar, though, to one she'd given him that morning those months ago when she'd pulled open the shower door and paused to let him move aside before stepping in next to him, except now it's less affectionate and flirty and more distant and sad, and the difference makes him shiver just a little. Oh, how he wishes things were different. That he wasn't meeting her, finally, again, after all this time, in a mission briefing at CIA headquarters.

He clears his throat.  
"To get through both encryptions, a minute, tops?"

Despite the heaviness surrounding them, Chuck has to admit there's something a little satisfying in the way her jaw slackens a bit in shock, her eyebrows raising, impressed.

"I told you he was the best, Sarah." Graham murmurs before carrying on with his instructions. Chuck does his best to look humble, but when he sneaks a glance at Sarah again she's just watching him, a curious expression on her face coupled with something else he can't quite work out. It makes his stomach flip for a reason he can't pin down.

And as he looks back at the files, pretends to listen to the briefing, Chuck realizes one thing. He's in trouble now.

* * *

They meet at the airport at 5am and he's sure he's never been more exhausted in his life. It's a CIA transport, which means it'll be blissfully quiet and devoid of any screaming babies which would make Chuck's need for sleep ten times worse, but the plane will hardly be first class in its accommodation; if he remembers his transport to his Red Test correctly, there'll be a couple of mildly comfy seats and a walkway that's too small, but right now, he doesn't care. If there's just somewhere for him to sit and subsequently sleep, he'll be fine. He can cope with the inevitable neck pain that'll come from it.

DC is cold with a September chill, and he tugs his coat a little further round him as he waits for Sarah to arrive so he can get on the plane and get a damn nap. Nobody tells you when you sign with the CIA that you sacrifice your entire sleep schedule, you're apparently just meant to figure that out for yourself, and Chuck is pretty sure that moment is right now, fighting to keep his eyelids open.  
He wakes up promptly, though, when Sarah appears.

Her heels sound out against the tarmac before he sees her, and he wants to turn around and ask her why she's wearing heels at 5am but he remembers himself just in time. They haven't spoken since Graham's office and he has no idea what they're going to do, where on earth they stand. Fun teasing chit-chat was fine in her hotel room on a sunny morning, but it would just be plain weird right now.

She slips right past him, approaches the pilot standing neatly-dressed by the steps, and asks something hushed Chuck can't hear for the distance before nodding and slipping her leather gloves off her hands. Hands he knows so well. Those hands he'd held, those hands that had held _him_ , trailed his body and made him tremble. Only a sudden gust of cold wind snaps him out of the wandering memories before he gets too carried away, and he's glad. He really needs to get his thoughts under control, dammit, and soon.  
But then Sarah turns to look at him briefly, so briefly, and he thinks his heart stops a little bit. Because it's 5am and he's in crumpled jeans and a polo shirt he grabbed from his floor while packing a light summer suit, and his hair is a mess and he can genuinely feel the bags hanging under his eyes. But Sarah looks... incredible. Hair pulled back and tied up neatly, a bright red coat over her shoulders, skinny jeans and boots that cling to every curve he already knows but still longs for now despite himself, despite this mess. And mostly, she looks awake, perky in fact, and he can't even imagine how long she'll have been a spy if she's perky in the early hours of the morning before a long haul transatlantic flight. She is what Chuck's trainers hoped for him to become, in time. Accomplished, professional, clean. The perfect spy.

The woman he hasn't been able to stop thinking about since July, the woman he'd thought was one last taste of a normal life, was a spy all along, more so than even he is. It still messes with his head to even think about it.

"You ready?" she asks across the distance, her tone making it clear there's no room for him to even argue that he's not.

"Yeah," he murmurs back in return, but she's already headed up the stairs and he knows she won't hear across the space.

This mission may be their first, but he knows it's make or break. Not just from her conversation with Graham the other day in which she'd essentially said she didn't want a permanent partner, but with their own past and the way she's clearly uncomfortable around him now (and that makes him feel awful for even speaking to her that night in the club if he's making her uncomfortable all this time later), he knows she'll go straight to Graham after this and tell him it's not gonna work if Chuck even puts a foot wrong.  
And really, it'd be easier to do that, to mess up somehow and let this partnership end just as it's begun, let him and Sarah be, apart, let them get new, simpler partners without this sticky complicated amazing history.

But he doesn't want that, really, doesn't want to screw up a mission just because his life changed when he met Sarah Walker months ago and now it's backfiring. He won't tank this, not when there are lives at stake and a dangerous weapon to steal and keep safe. And he doesn't want Sarah to leave again, not right now, not without even speaking to her, trying to smooth things over though he's not quite sure why they're rough in the first place. Does she resent him, for lying? Does she not think he can handle this? Does she just not want to see him again? He could believe all of those, and yet, he still doesn't want to just walk away.  
Because even in this mess, even when he's the most confused he's ever felt in his life, he still can't deny the strong strong attraction he feels to her, still can't suppress the happy memories of their time together that keep flooding his brain. He's pretty positive absolutely nothing could make him want to stay away from Sarah, and as disastrous as this situation may be, he still just wants to be here, with her.

He doesn't blame her for being this cool, though, this distant, this professional. He admires it, actually. That she can keep so focused, keep such a clear head. It's what they need to get through this, if that's what she wants. Trying to pretend things aren't different between them, both different from normal partners and different to when they'd met before, so different, that won't get them anywhere, and so it's easier to just stay quiet, and try and get the job done, if they can.

He hops up the steps into the jet and takes a seat across the aisle from Sarah, tugging his iPod out of his pocket and settling in. He can feel her eyes on him, not subtly- she's looking right at him, in fact- but he stares straight ahead then leans his head back, puts his earphones in, and attempts to nap.

When he wakes from patchy disturbed sleep four hours later, his mouth tasting disgusting and feeling hardly any more rested, he's perfectly content to fall right back asleep again when he realizes Sarah's still watching him, gaze still weighted. He could leave it be, ignore her and let this mess continue, but they've got a mission to complete in a few hours and if they're still this distracted he knows it'll be a complete disaster. So he speaks.

"I'm really not that interesting to look at, y'know." he mumbles, eyes still shut, then runs his tongue along his teeth. He needs some water and/or some toothpaste, stat. Ellie would probably crack a smile at his doctor terminology were she here to hear that thought.

"I-" Sarah says, and he wonders if he startled her, if she'd noticed he was awake, even wonders if she was staring at him the whole time he was asleep though he doubts that one. Even with their history he really isn't that interesting to look at. She clears her throat. "I'm sorry."

That peaks his interest.  
He rolls his head over to face her, opens his eyes. She's curled up in her chair, feet tucked under her and a magazine or something spread out on her lap. To his pleasant surprise, a pair of headphones are sat on her seat tray and he's suddenly very curious what she'd been listening to, since in their chat on that balcony the first time they met she'd told him she didn't know much about music. Either that was a lie, which wouldn't be surprising, it seems they both lied a lot, or she's started listening to things. He'd certainly rattled off a long enough list of great bands, he wonders, a little sadly, if she remembered any of them.

"I was thinking about the mission." she clarifies, and he nods as if he understands but she simply avoids his gaze. "Are you nervous?" Her tone is casual, polite, and so incredibly restrained compared to when they'd talked and talked before, laughed together in the club and in the sheets and in the shower.

But he knows, even if this is a mask, a persona she adopts, or even if Sarah was that cover, this Sarah Walker across the aisle, she's the one he'll be working with. And, hard as it'll be, memories of their time together will have to be shoved far, far away in his mind. He can't dwell on what was, not when what is, right now, is so important.

He shrugs.  
"Not really."

"But it's your first mission?"

"Apart from a couple training missions and my Red Test, yeah," She blinks at that, almost flinches, and he wonders why. The mission is in his file, she'll have known he supposedly killed someone. She won't know that the idea of ever doing such a thing for real, still turns his stomach. And, he supposes, she's never meant to find that out. He wants to be a spy, he does, but dealing with killing people will never sit well with him, even if the government justifies it, even if it's for the greater good. Knowing he's paused, he shrugs, pretends to be nonchalant when he feels anything but. "Seems pretty easy, though. And I trust you to have my back."

He sees the surprise that enters her eyes and wonders, so confusedly, why on earth she thinks he wouldn't trust her. Unless- unless she thinks he's mad she lied to him, unless she thinks he feels betrayed or something, but he wonders quite how that would be fair since he lied just as much in return. He's not sure why he trusts her, really, but he knows he does. Know it's inherent, now, hard to move. He shakes his head, about to speak more when she clears her throat.

"Okay. You should get some more rest, it's a busy night ahead."  
She turns away and picks up her magazine and, knowing he'd only push things now, he settles for going back to sleep instead of analyzing their first conversation since she kissed him goodbye in the hallway.

* * *

Time difference, take-off and landing, and the CIA plane combined, they deplane in Barcelona at 8pm and are headed to the party by 8:15. They'd changed on the plane, him taking ten minutes and Sarah more like twenty five, but Chuck had understood why when he'd seen her emerge from the bathroom in a dark blue cocktail dress and the same heels she'd travelled in, hair swept into a low bun and her makeup dark and shimmery. Her dress had instantly reminded him all too much of the one she had on at the club, that same shade of blue that had tumbled to her hotel room floor, and he had averted his eyes as she walked past him to sit down, instead determinedly fiddling with his jacket sleeves as he rolled them up to his elbows, or tried to, at least.  
After five minutes' attempt and another five until they were set to land, he'd looked up exasperatedly only to find Sarah facing him, sat on the edge of her seat with her long legs crossed one over the other, bare and shiny and distracting. She'd smirked at him, just a little, before clearing her throat and leaning over across the aisle to help him, and his stomach had pitched at the lighthearted easiness of it all. Until she'd finished, pulled back, and didn't say another word.

So now here he finds himself, in a slowing cab with the woman genuinely of his dreams by his side, with perfectly rolled sleeves at his elbows and a skinny tie round his neck (he'd brought it with him just in case and had decided against it, but Sarah had insisted he had to fit in, so he'd slipped it on, begrudgingly).

"Señora y señor, here we are. Enjoy your night."

He thanks the driver as the cab pulls over, tipping him generously out of a force of habit, then pushes open the door, surveying the location.  
The villa is beautiful from where they are, across the street. It's illuminated with spotlights, and trails of fairy lights round the windows and columns and doors, glittering and sparkling in the dark blue night. There are flashes of cameras everywhere Chuck looks, too, which could be worrying if they lead a trail back to them, but he trusts Sarah to avoid the photographers and he's not too bad at that himself. Languages swirl around him from groups of people in seemingly every direction, and gaggles of them sidle past even in the brief moment he looks around, with clicking heels and sharp suits, the glinting of expensive jewelry reflecting in the light. He eyes the entrance to the villa, nodding as it concurs with the photos and floor plan he'd studied from the file, and with one last deep breath, he steps out.

Sarah follows and he reaches for her arm, keeping up their cover as planned. Graham had suggested a couple since really, it was the only logical excuse for two people to be sneaking around the villa at a party without arousing suspicion, and though Sarah had looked like she was prepared to fight against the idea, and he'd done his best to look very uncomfortable to the Director (not a hard task), the boss' word had been final, so tonight, Chuck has to pretend to be completely enamored with Sarah Walker. Somehow it simultaneously seems like the easiest task in the world, and the most difficult.

As they slowly begin to walk through the crowds Sarah sends him a smile, a quiet grin that everyone would assume is real and adoring, but he can tell is tense and false. Because he knows what that smile _would_ look like, she'd sent it to him several times, before, say, leaning in to kiss him and making his head spin, and that certainly doesn't look like the one she's sending him now. He offers his own faux-smile back in return, one that doesn't meet his eyes, doesn't make his nose crinkle, then keeps walking.

They head to the door, making eye contact with guests, smiling, exchanging pleasant greetings. As they take a complimentary champagne each and make their way into the airy lobby, with high ceilings and expensive artwork on the walls and shelves, Ramirez, their mark, approaches them, eyeing Sarah with a glint that makes Chuck uneasy. He takes a deep breath, recalls his training, and when Ramirez comes closer, relaxes. They fall into their covers perfectly.  
He slips his arm around Sarah's waist, pulling her hip to his, and mimes whispering something in her ear. She throws her head back in laughter, but it's just as fake as her smile, without that realness he'd become accustomed to, without that light.

"I don't believe we've met," Ramirez says, clearing his throat, reaching out for Sarah's hand.

She turns, feigning only just noticing their host, and Chuck does the same. And then, he sees as she beams suddenly and reaches out herself, giggling, though it's devoid of any intentional flirtation even as Ramirez kisses her hand very melodramatically before pulling away. Because tonight is simple: be a convincing couple, get to the vault, get out- if the mark decides Sarah is his for the taking then the plan will go up in smoke. So, Chuck watches as she expertly eliminates that possibility, leaning close in to him, her back against his chest just lightly, distancing herself from Ramirez but chattering away exuberantly.  
"Lucy Sanders, Mr Ramirez. I heard about your party from my dear friend Sandra Anderson at one of our weekly lunches and I decided there and then my man and I just _had_ to come. Anything for a charitable cause, right Danny? And isn't this just _such_ a beautiful house, Danny, isn't it?"

Chuck smiles, letting go of Sarah just to switch his champagne to his other hand before reaching out to shake Ramirez'. The older man smiles politely but Chuck can't help but be amused at his weak grip. Sarah's a tough one to lose, Chuck should know. Sort of.

He falls into a slightly southern accent, just like the one Sarah had put on, with ease, leaning into her and following the suburban rambles. They hadn't worked out a cover before coming here, but the one Sarah's adopted is standard, and he can fake his way through it.  
"Right you are, honey, it's a fine place. Dan Gates, pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr Ramirez- great party! I was just saying to my girl Lucy here I could not wait to find the man in charge himself to congratulate him."

The response is a grumbled thank you and a slightly pissed-looking smile, and they exchange only a few more pleasantries before Ramirez sulks off, headed to greet another pretty mark no doubt. With a relieved sigh, Chuck swings himself and Sarah round to a waiter carrying crab cakes as they surreptitiously edge toward the outer hallway of the villa.

"Nice job." Sarah mutters, sounding frustrated, but for what reason Chuck isn't sure. He narrows his eyes a little as he swallows the pathetically tiny hors d'oeuvre; he didn't get to eat much on the plane.

"Thanks. What d'you say, give it five minutes more?"

She nods, sharply, and he eyes her as she links her arm through his and steps a little ahead of him, determinedly heading for the hall they'll need to head down to find the vault. He'd been expecting a more subtle approach, but he guesses she's the more seasoned spy here and nobody seems too suspicious at their gliding across the room, so Chuck guesses it works. She sets her champagne down and leans into him a little as they slow to a halt by the wall adjacent to the necessary corridor, and he ignores the feeling of her warmth pressed against his side and looks further round the room, instead pondering that first little test. They'd gotten into their covers with Ramirez easily, and Chuck would like to think he'd followed Sarah's lead pretty quickly. They didn't attract too much attention, weren't so clingy they'd look suspicious, but weren't so distanced Ramirez still had an interest in Sarah. All in all, it went pretty well. So Chuck can't figure out quite why nerves are still dancing in his stomach.  
Sarah swings around, loops both her arms round his waist, and he works it out pretty quickly. It's just how he feels around her.

"Your three o'clock," she murmurs, looking up at him with a smile, and his head spins as memories of that morning flood his mind, when she'd been pressed bare up against him, grinning, and he'd lifted her up and lost himself in her. He clears his mind with a shake of his head, relieved when her gaze hasn't shifted to suspicion, and takes a quick look up, seeing an attractive woman in a red dress heading their way. He blinks, then looks right back down to Sarah again, and instincts kick in.

He sets his own glass down on the high table next to them and chuckles loudly, slipping his arms round Sarah's hips and willing his mind not to fog distractedly. He smiles, not quite as falsely as he'd expected, when she catches on and laughs too, standing up on her tip toes. He moves his arms higher, holding her close, fake laughing again when she presses her face into his neck, turning her head so anyone in front of them could see her smile. The woman in the red dress just keeps coming their way, though, and he speaks through his grin to Sarah.

"No dice, we'll just sell it."

Out the corner of his eye, he watches as the woman slows, tall and poised, an eyebrow arching as her gaze skims them, so intently that Chuck feels his skin bristle with discomfort. Sarah shuffles a little, turning out, but Chuck keeps grinning down at her, selling the cover.

"Disculpe, can we help you?" Sarah asks, still in that vague southern twang Lucy Sanders has.

"I was wondering if I could ask your..." As she trails off, her eyes dart to Sarah's back, right where Chuck's hands are as she evidently looks for a ring, and he silently curses that they didn't go with a married cover before figuring that'd just torture him even more than this already is. "Boyfriend? To dance."

He looks up finally, pretending to have only just noticed the interruption to Dan and Lucy's little world, and sends a polite smile to the woman.  
"Who, me? Oh I'm flattered, really, but I'm good with my girl right here." He looks down at Sarah again, squeezes her the tiniest bit, but she overreacts just like he'd hoped, tightens her shoulders and leans into him and makes the movement look stronger than it was, giggling a little.

"If you change your mind, Mr..."

Blinking, he frowns a little, feigning confusion and very much not faking disinterest.  
"Gates."

When he offers no first name, the woman nods a little, and he hopes she's got it, finally.  
"Mr Gates. I'll be by the pool."

He suppresses the urge to shudder at her somehow unsettling tone, and instead smiles right back down at Sarah, pressing lightly on her shoulder so she turns round, pressed flushed against him again instead of facing out into the room.  
"Sorry about that, honey, now where were we..." He leans down to her ear, pretends to whisper something, and over the sound of her quiet squealing giggle, he hears the loud thumps of the woman's shoes as she heads away. Message hopefully received.

They stay there for a while, uncomfortably wrapped up and giggling quietly. Sarah keeps swatting her hand on his chest as if he's just said something very inappropriate and he sees the other guests and some of the waiters sending them quietly amused looks every now and then. Once more, they're drawing the perfect amount of attention. Not too much, not too little, just like Chuck had been taught. But he can't lie, with Sarah, it feels a little too simple. He has to remind himself, it's all a ruse to fool a couple hundred partygoers. Because smiling and chuckling with Sarah is just a little too nice and oh, he could just get lost so easily.

Ramirez finally stops moving from pretty woman to pretty woman in the lobby and heads outside to presumably continue his attempts with some of the many guests hanging by the pool or the hot tub, maybe even that woman in the red dress, and it's then that Chuck and Sarah make their move, heading down the hallway off the main room. The moment they're round the corner, out of everyone's sight, they split apart, lightning-quick. It reminds Chuck a little of those magnets he saw in a physics class once, the ones that repel apart and slide across the table when you turn them a certain way. He tells himself the separation here is purely professional, but he knows it's not just that. Being pressed up against the woman he was, well, pressed up against, only a couple months ago, that's a little too fresh, a little too raw, and just very uncomfortable, at least emotionally. Physically, well, he already knows what it's like to hold Sarah Walker in his arms, already knows how good it feels.  
But he supposes, as uncomfortable and strange as it was, it could always have been worse. They might've really had to sell that; a couple of hugs and giggles weren't the worst thing.

After a half a minute of walking, they find an annexed area Graham had pointed out from the floor plan he'd provided in the briefing, and after Sarah staggers into the space fake-drunk, clearing it immediately, it takes Chuck no time at all to find the vault. He scoops the little PDA he'd brought with him out of his pocket as he opens up the control panel on the adjacent wall, and forces himself to breathe. This, this is his stuff, his jam. He gets the computer side of this job. The complicated working with a partner you've already slept with side, he's less experienced with that.

"How long will this take?" Sarah asks, breath a little ragged. He guesses it's the adrenaline of the mission since he's feeling a little out of breath himself and they definitely haven't done anything energetic. He hooks the PDA up to the mainframe and taps into the CCTV system, speaking as he works.

"Just a minute, like I told you."  
He tries not to sound petty but he might fail. It's just hard to concentrate with Sarah standing so close and breathing so loudly as she keeps watch, hand in her purse which he knows is because she's holding her gun hidden from sight. He hadn't thought through, somehow, that his having weapons means she of course has weapons, probably many since she's clearly experienced in this job. Once more, reconciling the Sarah he'd first met and this one now just hurts his head. And it's especially difficult to concentrate, he muses, when she's asking him questions he's already answered, like she's got no confidence in his estimates. She doesn't want to work with him, he knows that. This is super weird and awkward, yes. But he's trying to do this and if she just let him, this would probably be a whole lot easier.

She huffs impatiently, audibly, and he loops the CCTV instead of worrying as to what she's concerned about. He feels for the wait this is taking, but he's well within his estimates about how long getting this done would take, and he can't help but think that if she trusted him, maybe she could relax a little. Just a little.  
Another couple seconds pass as he hacks into the vault door, computer locked just like he'd expected. It's a simple code to break, though, and he starts the algorithm he developed after yesterday's briefing, watching as it runs and selects numbers right away.

"I think I hear someone coming." she murmurs, voice tense.

"Almost done."

"Chu- _Charles_ , I swear-"

The vault door whooshes open as the algorithm cracks the code, and Chuck only watches as Sarah runs past him and into the vault. He can indeed hear footsteps shuffling louder and louder in their direction but he's too stuck still, because for the first time since they reunited, Sarah has said his name. And she changed her mind and called him Charles instead, and sure he's called that in the agency now, and he introduced himself to her as that, but Sarah doesn't have to call him that, Sarah of all people. No, he's sure he'll always feel like Chuck with her, always be Chuck. He feels like himself when he's with her, even right now in the middle of a mission with his pulse racing a mile a minute, he feels like Chuck. She's a tether to the past he's not meant to have, and a bridge from that life to this new one.  
He's evidently a better actor than he'd thought if she really thinks he's that incredibly different now to the man she met two months ago in California that she shouldn't even call him by the same damn name.

The footsteps get louder, come much much closer, and when Sarah's heels echo against the vault floor as she heads back to him, instincts and training rear in his brain, just like before.

He laughs and gasps all at once, and it feels weird just doing that standing by himself without Sarah even here to pretend with him, but maybe that's what being a spy is about. Faking it.  
"Honey, I really think we shouldn't be doing this out here-" Why his first instinct is to pretend he's making out in public with Sarah, he doesn't know. Except he does, of course, because there was that time not so long ago that they were basically making out in public, she was pressed against him outside her hotel room door, his lips were trailing up and down her neck, hungry for her, and they were about to put on quite the show before he managed to control himself momentarily.

His tactic works, though. Where Sarah's footsteps hurry up and she rushes out the vault, his words tipping her off, the footsteps farther away pause momentarily, juddering and stop-starting, like the person has stumbled at what they've overheard before continuing. His eyes meet Sarah's as she emerges from the heavy vault door, large briefcase in hand, and he pulls on the PDA where it's still plugged into the mainframe. The wires detach and come sprawling out, and the vault doors slide shut suddenly, mercifully not too loud, and Sarah stands outside of them, looking at him, a little stunned. There's a barely audible beep Chuck identifies as the CCTV turning back on again, but he knows the two of them are standing right at the edges of the camera's range right now, and he slides the control panel shut as he reaches for Sarah. She comes to him willingly, nestling into his side and sandwiching the briefcase between them and the wall, leaning back as they both press their sides against it, shielding it. Training kicking in, and knowing this time they can't just be wrapped up and laughing, he pretends to kiss her neck and she squeals, and for the hundredth time this evening, it's all fake. Because he can't taste that heat of her skin he'd come to love, to crave, can't feel her pulse racing beneath his lips, can't hear the ragged breaths that would be slipping through her teeth, the moans that would be emanating from her throat. This is just an empty, quiet, over-the-top act.

The footsteps stop and they 'break apart' to find just an unamused looking older man, looking at them knowingly and folding his arms.  
He rattles off some Spanish asking for the bathroom, and Chuck quickly responds in kind, saying it's just back down the hall and to the left. He only knows that because of the floor plan he'd studied intently, but still.

He lets out the breath he'd been holding once the man's footsteps retreat, and he looks down to Sarah.  
"Let's get out of here."

She nods hurriedly in agreement, shifting off him to hold the briefcase in her hand once again, turning her back to the camera and shielding their bounty from view. By the time Ramirez figures out his weapon is missing and views the CCTV footage back and puts two and two together, Chuck and Sarah will be safely back in DC, posting the warrant for Ramirez' arrest to the Spanish authorities, but it's still better to be safe than sorry.

They quickly head round a corner they both know will lead them to the basement, as planned, and though the party noise returns a little louder round here Chuck knows they'll be safe. Sarah's impatience, which he definitely can't blame her for now, means she reaches the door they're looking for first and he lets her slip through, checking one last time to see if anyone's watching them before heading through the door himself and letting it close.

Five minutes and one incident combining his height and a very small window later, they're in a cab headed back to the airport.

"Nice job," he hears Sarah murmur for the second time tonight, or rather, he thinks he hears Sarah murmur it, her voice is so quiet it's more just a blurring of words and maybe wishful thinking. He nods and clears his throat anyway, tightening his hold on the briefcase which sits between them as precious violent cargo.

"You too."

A streetlight passes overhead, lighting up the back seat momentarily, and for a second, just a second, he thinks he sees Sarah smiling. He tries to hold in his own smile as the car keeps driving off.  
That worked. They accomplished their mission, it wasn't too awkward, in the end, and they succeeded. He can tell just from that quick glimpse that Sarah's a hell of a spy, her improvisation and the ease with which she slipped into the cover each time tell him that. But he'd like to think he held his own there too, he kept it together, he kept that woman off them, got Sarah into the vault, covered their tracks with that old man. Despite how unusual it was, despite how uncomfortable he's sure they both felt, it worked. _They_ worked. With most partners in their situation, that would be something of a miracle. But Chuck can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, with Sarah and him, that's what they can be. He knew when he met her in that club, talked to her in her hotel, he knew they had a connection, he knew they just fit.

Perhaps, he thinks, they can do the same in this job.

* * *

The handoff at the airport is pretty simple, delivered and signed for by a CIA courier Sarah vets thoroughly and of whom Chuck takes one look at their badge and has to presume it's legit, he honestly has no idea.

They climb onto the plane just past midnight, the whole trip thoroughly a whirlwind one, and he can't help but feel a little sad.

"I've never been to Spain before."  
He's not sure why he says it aloud, why he shares it. Why he keeps reminding Sarah just how green and new to all this he really is in comparison to her.

She shrugs, casting him a quick glance before heading down the aisle ahead of him and moving to the same seat as before, not that there's too much choice in the tiny jet. She tugs on her hair tie, loosening the tight bun she'd had, then runs her hand through her hair to let it fall down around her shoulders. He tries not to gawp at her, but the display is quite the sight to behold.  
"You get used to not seeing the places all that well."

At least he didn't sign up to be a spy purely because of the travel, he muses to himself as he takes his own seat. He'd share the joke with Sarah, but he's not sure they're quite there yet. Slipping off his tie, previously loosened the moment they'd snuck out the basement, he tosses it onto the tray in front of him, putting his jacket with Sarah's neatly rolled sleeves onto the seat by his side, letting the cover and the mission slip away with them. It's a method he found worked well after his practice missions and his Red Test, the unpacking, peeling off his layers so he's left as plain old Chuck, even on a CIA chartered jet about to fly across the Atlantic. Those times, he'd been rattled, scared, anxious. Now, he feels weirdly relieved, and satisfied. Doing something good just, strangely enough, makes him feel good. And that's why he signed up to be a spy. To help people.  
He runs a hand over his face, the adrenaline having worn off and left him somewhat morose and very tired, limbs feeling like lead.

Sarah says nothing, and though Chuck is tempted to doze off, when the jet's in the air, he clears his throat, fills the silence.

"Chuck." he says, looking across the aisle, and Sarah turns her head to him quickly, her hair flying round her face.

"What?"

"Call me Chuck... Please." He tags the last bit on with a half-hearted smirk because he thinks he was just sounding more like a Bond wannabe and a bit of a douche than a real actual spy.

She doesn't reply, just stays looking at him, watching, gaze heavy and questioning. When another minute passes without her saying anything, he turns away, shuffles back into his seat, looking up to the ceiling and letting his eyes drift shut. If she doesn't want to call him Chuck, he gets it. But everything in their partnership is surely just going to be a reminder of their time together, and if she's not even comfortable with his name then he doubts this job is gonna last. He tries one last time.

"It's... Chuck's my real name. I might be Charles with the agency officially, but it's not me. Just... could you please call me Chuck when we're working together? I'd... I'd like that."  
He winces at the choppy awkward way his request comes out and stops himself short of biting his lip in annoyance. There are several more beats of silence before he hears her speak.

"Okay."

He sighs, the last held bit of his breath coming out in one long exhale as the weight topples just a little from his shoulders. They completed the mission pretty perfectly, they got the weapon back in safe hands, and things with Sarah feel the least strained they've felt since he saw her in Graham's office, which is pretty good, considering the circumstances.  
He thinks he bids her something of a good night, but he's out before he can contemplate it.

He doesn't know what time it is when he wakes up, doesn't even move to check how long he's been out, because though he's still incredibly sleepy and he needs to stretch out his neck, his limbs, just a little, he woke up to someone's voice. Sarah's voice. She might've been in his dream too, probably was, but it's fading away from memory only to be replaced by her physical presence just across the aisle.

"Yes, sir, I understand." she says, curt and professional.

Realization dawns as he works out she must be talking to Graham, relaying the specifics of the success of the mission before they both file their respective reports sometime in the next 24 hours, as protocol dictates. Chuck can't hear Graham on the other end but he follows the thread of conversation pretty well.

"No, I, uh, I think that won't be necessary. You were right, he was... he's good. Honestly, and I don't think he'll put much of this in the report, if he hadn't gotten into the vault so quickly we would have been spotted by a civilian." She clears her throat, sounding a little more awkward now, yet somehow more open. "Ch- Carmichael, thought on his feet and kept the cover intact."

There's a pause as Graham evidently responds and Chuck fights to keep his cheeks from staining red with embarrassment.

"Yes, I do. He's green like you said, but you wouldn't have known it out there." Another beat passes. "Yeah, I think I can. He seems to trust _me_ , so… I'll keep working with him."

He really, really fights to keep the blush down. She trusts him. Putting that together, her pause, she must've just been answering Graham, saying whether or not she could trust Chuck.  
And she does. He fights every urge to open his eyes, talk to her, see if he could get to know this Sarah.

She laughs suddenly, mirthlessly.  
"A team would be a little too much, the CAT Squad gave me plenty of experience with that. Yeah, I'm sure... Okay, you'll have my full report in 12 hours."

There's a light clack of plastic on plastic and he supposes that's her phone being put down on her tray. Conversation-slash-distraction over, and now feeling thoroughly embarrassed, Chuck's about to shuffle over onto his other side and go back to sleep when he hears the soft sound of Sarah's clothes brushing the material of the airplane chairs, just audible above the hum of the airplane. She's moving closer, he thinks.

"Chuck?"

He doesn't move, doesn't speak, despite his heart tripping over itself at the way she says his name, both her saying it at all, and the softness to her tone, that lined affection he hadn't even realized he'd missed until right now. The cool professional tone has ebbed away, leaving behind the voice he'd recognize anywhere.  
He stays right where he is.

But Sarah moves, he hears the chair creak as she stands, hears the thud of her shoes against the carpeted ground. He hears her move closer, feels her presence, hell, he can even feel her warmth when she's near enough.  
Then, just when he thinks she's about to keep going, walk past him and head to the bathroom, he feels her hand run through his hair.

Her touch burns him, leaves him tingling and dreamy, because the familiarity that's in the move, oh the same affection, her movement exactly the same as it had been when she'd pulled him in for a kiss, or tugged him up from her waist, or held him as he stood across the threshold about to leave, it's perfect. It's Sarah. And oh how he's missed it.  
His heart races at the feeling, and something deep and aching surfaces in his stomach, a longing for her he apparently just can't repress, and for some reason he can't understand, he doesn't want to repress. This feels _right_ , being with her feels right. He'd known that the moment he'd seen her at the bar in the club, and he knows it now, when his life is completely upside down.

She steps away after just a moment, the touch so brief, and when he hears the bathroom door click shut, he rolls over onto his side if only to hide the giant, giant grin that spreads over his face. It might take time, and it could be a long road to get anywhere near close to how they were before, and working together could be dangerous, tiring, difficult, but he knows, Chuck just knows, this is gonna work.

* * *

 **a/n 2:** Next up, another place, another mission, and a little getting to know each other. See you next week, and again, if you liked it, please leave a review and let me know!

-Kiera :)


	3. London

**summary:** On his last night home in LA before becoming a field agent, Chuck finds himself begrudgingly dragged to a nightclub, all thanks to Morgan. But what he meets there, or rather, who he meets there, is about to change his life, and his future spy career, in ways he can't possibly imagine. Partnered up, Chuck and Sarah have to navigate the spy life, missions, their memories of that fateful night, and a whole lot of feelings. AU.

 **a/n:** Aah, you guys are overwhelming me with your reactions to this fic, you keep being so sweet! I loved reading all of your reactions to the last chapter, how surprised some of you were, things y'all liked, things you wanted to know. I read every review and PM and I loved them all so thank you so so much. I sucked at replying again, I'm so sorry lol. As for the things people wanted to know— a head's up, we're sticking with Chuck's POV through this whole fic. Though I've toyed with the idea of writing some things from Sarah's perspective, most things work from Chuck's since he's the newbie here, and I didn't want to re-write every event from Sarah's perspective, or end up only doing one chapter from her POV. That doesn't mean, though, that we're not gonna learn how she's feeling, her view on things. Because that's gonna come through the other thing people wanted, talking! There was always gonna be talking in this fic, the dust just had to settle first, and so happily there's some talk ahead (though maybe not about what there should be, heh). I'm gonna stop with my own talking now, then, and let these two begin! If you like it, again, please leave a review and let me know!  
 **summary:** I don't own Chuck, early Christmas decorations, various pieces of a tea set, or confused old ladies who sound like the Queen.

* * *

 **october**

London is, frankly, freezing. As in, ridiculously, uncomfortably cold, kinda freezing. He can even see his breath as he dives into the department store, gloves doing little to stop the numbing feeling, or, not so feeling, in his fingers. His scarf is wrapped tight round his neck and tucked into the front of his jacket, and despite the coat being buttoned closed, the collar popped up, the rest of his face is positively frozen even with his layers.  
Times like this, he misses California, desperately.

He thought it'd been a nice idea, to go get some lunch and survey the nearby area for the mission tomorrow, since the airport delays hadn't been as bad as they'd expected and they can't check into their hotel room until 3pm- CIA or not, hotel rules is hotel rules, apparently. The weather, however, has disagreed with his plans, so now he and Sarah are just wandering around the outskirts of London in the unexpectedly freezing early-October, killing time and trying to act normal. Or, he's trying to act normal. Sarah's doing an Oscar-winning job.

She ambles up next to his side, looping her arm through his and walking further into the store and away from the suspicious eyes of the dutiful security guard. While Chuck is panting and trying to regain the feeling in his... well, everything, Sarah's composed, calm, casual. She eyes little perfumes and fancy clothes and early Halloween displays like they do this all the time.  
In reality, it's Chuck's second ever mission and his third time ever really being next to Sarah and it still feels incredibly, incredibly weird.

She keeps up their easy conversation. They've been trying to get to know one another whilst simultaneously ignoring the fact that they know each other very, very well.

"You've never had a partner before, right? Even when you were an analyst?" she asks, tone light, tilting her head and picking up an orange candle with cinnamon tied round the outside. It probably smells like spice and fall, except London has apparently skipped autumn and dived headfirst into a frozen winter, so Chuck wonders if maybe a Christmas candle would be more apt.

He skims his gaze over a fancy tie on the next display, one that he'd never wear in a million years.  
"Nope. Always worked by myself, even in my little analyst cave. You?"

No matter how much he's been trying, he's sure he fails yet again to just keep things conversational, and now he holds back a wince at his short reply. Barcelona was a success, yes, and now they're officially partners basically by Sarah's request, but that doesn't change the fact they slept together months ago, and it was incredible. Doesn't change the fact that there's something between them now no matter how they try to ignore it. Because, it's there, Chuck knows it's there. He can still feel it, the way her eyes meet his sometimes and he sees a glimpse of that Sarah he'd met, still there. The way she'll smirk a certain way and his breath catches in his throat.

She pulls a face.  
"Not one that stuck." she says, in a bitter but somehow sing-song tone. "I was in a team a few years ago, the CAT Squad. It went south. Since then, honestly, I... I've been reluctant, to work with someone else."

Gasp, Chuck thinks, heavy on the sarcasm. He knows that already, of course, he'd heard her objections that day in Graham's office, or at least heard the Director's response to them and filled in the blanks, when Chuck was just standing outside the doors and listening in, with no idea it was _Sarah_ of all people on the other side. He knows she didn't want to work with him, knows she'd rather have kept working by herself, on quick solo missions he's sure she was amazing at, or working with partners and dropping them as soon as the case closed. Or at least she wanted that then, now, one mission down and another soon to start tomorrow, maybe she's changed her mind a little. He really hopes she has, because he's got a feeling they could be amazing together, professionally, if things could just... click.

He turns them round a corner in the store, loathe to see a giant wall of bright ugly Christmas lights in harsh icy blues and blinding cold whites. Dancing inflatable Santas wave about, paired with neon Christmas trees and flashing 'Please stop here' signs that make his eyes hurt. Rows and rows of lights, tree lights, mains lights, icicle lights, bauble lights, line the back wall and make him see stars. Someone dressed as an elf wanders past, looking bored.

"Nope."  
Spinning them back round, he heads back to the fall candles and the occasional pumpkin, but as he walks he's surprised to hear Sarah chuckling just a bit by his side, and when he casts his gaze down to her quickly, she doesn't particularly try to hide it, just scratches at her jaw with a glove-covered finger and fails to suppress a smirk. Something flutters in his chest, light.

"Way too early for that crap." he mutters, and Sarah nods in agreement. "So, uh, the CAT Squad, am I- Can I ask what happened?" He remembers something vague Graham said about an agent's betrayal, and Sarah had brought it up to their boss again on the plane back from Barcelona, but other than that he's lost. And he doesn't want to push, ask her something she doesn't want to answer. The boundaries between them are tenuous enough as it is, fragile.

She tenses next to him but doesn't stop moving, thankfully, just guides them further into a quiet corner with shelves of pretty paper advent calendars. It's still far too early for those, in Chuck's opinion, but at least they're not blinding him.

When she hesitates again, he shrugs.  
"It's okay if it's classified or you don't wanna tell me, it's cool."

She looks up, sends him a funny look he can't decipher.  
"You're my partner. Classified isn't meant to have a meaning between us, Chuck."

He somehow nods and breathes out a "Right," but he's a little stunned, because her putting it into words like that, _You're my partner_ , is making him reel just a little. She might've confessed her trust in him to Graham on the phone that time, but saying it to Chuck's face now, defining this partnership outright when she actually knows he's awake, that's something else.

Pulling her lip between her teeth, she takes a deep breath.  
"You remember Zondra from the club?" she asks, and Chuck almost chuckles and says he could never forget. The terrifying brunette who looked like a supermodel, just like Sarah and the other one... Maria? Carina, that was it. He nods again, ignoring the memories of other events in that club, on that night, the next morning, that are attempting to swarm his mind. Thankfully, Sarah continues. "She happened. I found a listening device in her boot, and we'd been one step behind our whole mission."

"Wasn't hard to put two and two together, I guess?" he says, with a wince. Zondra and Carina, and the other one he'd seen Sarah heading back to, a blonde woman, Chuck had guessed they were all Sarah's friends, not her spy team, and though it might've just been a cover, there'd seemed to be a camaraderie between them, even then, apparently a while after Zondra sold them out. The way the women had eyed him like a dodgy piece of meat, the way they'd called Sarah 'Blondie' like they did that a lot. They were a close team, he guesses, which would've made that betrayal even worse.

She nods, looking at him with a deep, intense gaze.  
"She said it wasn't her, and she was cleared, but the trust was gone. We can still be friends on nights like that one, but I could never guarantee she'd have my back again. Working with someone else, trusting them like that? It has a tendency to go bad."

It could be a threat, a warning not to make the same mistake, and Chuck would promise he would never, but he can tell by the sadness in Sarah's voice that really, the treachery isn't the worst part of it; the betrayal of that trust and friendship is. Maybe that's why she's been holding back, maybe that's why they haven't... clicked, yet. It's hard enough to find someone you trust in this life, Chuck knows. Those people are few and far between. But if it's a friend, someone you've allowed in, who goes against you, it makes it even worse.  
He clears his throat and shrugs, breaking eye contact from her burning look and moving them onward and round to an exit. The store's too warm all of a sudden, the heaters stifling when he's still so wrapped up, plus he's still hungry and some food sounds like a great idea.

"We've still got another hour until we can check in, how 'bout that lunch?"

She smiles in agreement and they step back out onto the freezing street. His face quickly goes numb once more, his nose so cold it's somehow also burning, and when they pass a cute little coffee shop only a couple minutes after leaving the store they both barrel inside. Cold London is a change to warm Barcelona just the other week and, if the speed with which she tugs him into the little cafe is any evidence, Sarah's as unhappy with the change as he is. He shudders as warmth returns to him and they get led to a little table in the corner.

Uncurling his scarf from round his neck and tossing it on the spare chair, he sits, smiling politely at the waitress whilst shrugging off his jacket. Sarah orders a coffee as she peels off her own layers, leaving her in a thin pretty sweater that dips at the neck and is tight round her arms and curves right round her- he clears his throat and orders a tea, eyeing the menu determinedly. He's not gonna let his distracted thoughts ruin this, he won't. But that pull, that connection, is still always there like he'd thought.  
The drinks are delivered, and once the waitress leaves he realizes Sarah's chuckling at him.

"What?" he asks, shifting the many little cups and saucers around and pouring out his tea.

"Nothing," she says, with the most wonderful smile, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. "It's just, you've really never done all this before, have you? It's cute, to see you doing just what I used to do."

She flushes a little at that, like the suddenly very personal words kind of slipped out, but he raises an eyebrow and stirs in some milk. _Cute_? Gee, she's got an uncanny knack for making him feel like he's eight years old. Instead of pointing that out to her, though, he focuses on the little nugget of information she just offered up.  
"You went all out on the clichés too?"

"Oh yeah. Trust me, after... well, after a while, they get boring, and you stick to coffee in England because it takes up less table space." she says, with a shrug.

He snorts at that, nodding in agreement as he tries to rearrange the crockery again. He almost loses the little pot of milk over the edge and casually stretches over to put it on a nearby empty table instead. Sarah laughs at that, so he hams it up more and moves the sugar over too, and she just laughs again.

They order, quietly chatting about nothing in particular, the weather, stuff in the news, waiting for their food to arrive, and it's... well, it's really nice. Effortless. It's something he realizes has been missing from their conversations ever since they met up to get their assignments yesterday before flying out to London. They'd tried to talk then, and on the plane, and all the way up until that department store, but that every day sense of talking to someone, just like in a coffee shop, that wasn't there. Then, there was an agenda, it was spy talk, partners, missions, recapping protocol, but now? Now it's just him, getting to know her, and vice versa. It's like the hours they spent out on that club balcony, talking and talking and talking, about their lives, about their days, about their interests. Now, he can't help but note even as he tries not to, it's also the tiniest bit like a date, the way it's just him and Sarah tucked into this tiny corner of this little cafe, all intimate and quiet and small smiles. He flushes, clears his throat as the thoughts get a little overwhelming, and lets Sarah keep telling him a tale about one of her other partners. Well, there's still some spy talk now, he guesses. They are spies, after all.

The waitress has no reason to keep coming over or lingering eventually, once their food has been delivered and they've reassured her that yes, they have everything they need, and then Chuck decides he might as well get down to business, since they'd been too busy trying to talk and trying to sleep on the plane to discuss any particulars.

"So, the mission." he starts, taking a bite of his sandwich as Sarah tucks into hers. He notices her skin is a little pink, nose a little red still from the constant cold outside, and she probably doesn't even know just how adorable it makes her look, stark against the warm sunny tones of her hair, the deep blue of her eyes.

"It should be fairly simple. You check the meet with the contact tomorrow morning, we- _I_ \- meet with him, then I make the exchange and walk away."

"And that's it?"

She nods.  
"That's it." She seems to know why he's asking that, that it's not that he's some kind of workaholic who wants big action-packed missions all the time, but that he's still got his reservations about this one.

Honestly, he's still got reservations about this whole spy life in general. He just wants to do good, help people, that's why he joined the CIA as an analyst all those years ago at Stanford, that's why he made the choice. But he's not stupid, and he's not naïve, he knows what goes on behind closed doors in the agency. He just hopes those sorts of missions never come his way.

Across the table from him, Sarah smiles a little sadly.  
"Chuck... you'll learn that sometimes just because a..." She leans in and lowers her voice but he's momentarily distracted by how close she is suddenly. "...a criminal, is a criminal, it doesn't mean the agency doesn't want to still use them. In the case of Doyle-"

"He's a bad guy who helps us catch other bad guys, yeah yeah, I know. Still sucks though, right?"  
Their exchange is with a crook, a once-rogue agent, but he's apparently helped the CIA enough in the past that they've kept him out of prison and kept him on the streets as a contact, a useful mark, with connections they can't get any other way. In this case, he's obtained some important codes the agency want, and they're going to hand a case of money over to him as a reward and to keep him happy, and Chuck has to be completely fine with that. He supposes it does good overall, getting the codes, but helping a criminal stay safe outside and basically free, is still hard to swallow.

Sarah chuckles, for some reason. Maybe it's his wording, he doesn't know. But just like that night in the club, Chuck's reminded that he really really likes making Sarah Walker laugh.  
"Still sucks."

He beams at her, takes a sip of his tea, and leans back in his chair.

By the time they've finished their meal and headed back to the hotel, they can check in, and Chuck, though anxious about entering a hotel room with Sarah for the second time but the first since they met again, is glad. Jet lag and a general lack of sleep prior to getting here thanks to the flight have meant he's very very sleepy. Barcelona flew by so fast he didn't get to adjust to the time zone, so he supposes he should be glad he didn't have to go from Europe time back to the East Coast and back to Europe again, but it's still tough when before his training he'd hardly left California or D.C. before.

"I'm gonna head to the gym," Sarah says as they walk into the room, tossing her bag on the floor and the room key on the small writing desk. He blinks. Every part of him is exhausted and drained right now, and yet here's Sarah, wanting to work out. It's as crazy as it is impressive. Nodding, he lets her head into the bathroom to presumably get changed while he sprawls out on top of the bed to try to fit in a nap. He'll make her take the bed tonight, because of course there's only one, thanks CIA, but he'll take advantage of the comfy mattress and soft smooth top sheets while he can. The couch doesn't look too awful, at least.

He can't drift off, though, not just because, at first, Sarah's changing on the other side of the door and he already knows what she looks like in that situation, of course, though that is admittedly part of it, and then not just because he hears her head out to the gym, but even when it's just him in the room, alone, and all of him wants to sleep, he still can't. Because he just can't stop thinking about her. Them.

He's trying to untangle the lies she told, the lies he told. The things she told him that night that were real are starting to outweigh the lies or the skipped-over information. She'd lied about the CAT Squad, but only sort of, only said they were her friends and she was on vacation for a few days, which seems to have been the truth.

He thought she'd have lied about her name, used an alias, and she did, he supposes, went with Sarah Walker instead of whatever her real name is because he doubts that's it. But she's been a spy for much longer than he has, a field agent that is, and he's pretty sure her telling him her spy name is far more significant than her telling him her real name at all. He is Chuck Bartowski, always will be, probably, and though he goes by Charles Carmichael now he's still Chuck, end of discussion. But Sarah lives and breathes as just that, Sarah, that's been her life for years now, with no apparent connections to the past life she lived, or none she hinted at before and none he's found out since working with her.  
He remembers, suddenly, when she'd hesitated in that elevator, when she'd said they were strangers and he'd asked for her last name. She'd paused, and then said Walker. He can't be sure, not at all, but he thinks she just might have been torn between making up a name, any name, and going with the one she goes by every single day. She took a risk, he realizes, just by telling him her _name_. She might have lied to him, and he might have lied to her, but that night, they told the truth as best they could.

In the end, his thinking means he doesn't manage to sleep even after a good forty-five minutes by his count, and since he has no idea how long she'll be in the gym, he pulls himself up off the bed and trudged to the couch, flopping down against the cushions, legs dangling over the edge. It's one of those sofas with seating so new it's still stiff, no give at all, and he feels a little like he's lying on rocks. Ironically, it sends him to sleep in minutes, and he crashes, hard.

Since his trainers had played on his natural instincts, helped him be more aware of his surroundings at all times, he does stir when he hears the door open, but a quick glance just shows him Sarah returning, skin slick, wearing running pants and a blue sports bra, and she moves right into the bathroom once more. He's glad.  
They're partners now, and if he knows one thing, it's to not let his feelings, confused as they are, screw things up. She trusts him, and he's going to do his best to never betray that.

He falls back into a half-sleep, just about aware of the noises and motions around him but not conscious enough to work out what they are. When Sarah wakes him lightly to ask about room service, her voice somehow a pleasant intrusion even upon his dozing he manages to murmur something about chicken, he thinks.

"Chuck?" she asks, voice suddenly loud, and it's enough to wake him abruptly.

He jumps out of the nap, alert and exhausted at the same time, about to bolt upright and clear the room, grab the nearest defensive weapon he can find, only to see Sarah standing at the head of the couch, looking down at him, a tiny smile on her lips, her arms folded across her chest.

"Dinner."  
She points in the direction of the coffee table before moving out of his field of vision, and he sits up to stretch his stiff muscles, yes, but also to eye her as she heads back to the bed. She's in different clothes now, obviously, since he can gather she'd had a shower after returning from the gym, but they're just a relaxed white t-shirt and some grey sweatpants. Her hair is tied back, still a little damp, her face scrubbed clean of makeup but somehow still so flawless, so perfect, so glowing. The clothes he's never seen before, but the wet hair and the lack of makeup hark him back to that morning he'll never forget, of the shower, of her standing across the threshold, reaching out to kiss him. This Sarah is domestic Sarah, every day Sarah, just like their conversations have been. He can't help but think that by seemingly comfortably being in his presence like this, relaxed, laid-back, not staunch and professional, she's letting him in, somehow.

Or, maybe he's just really reading into things now. Getting over what happened between them, and the unravelling of it all, plus this new life they have to lead as partners, it's gonna take a while, he knows.

Rubbing his hand over his face, he looks around the room, stunned that it's already dark outside. He guesses the sun sets early in London in the winter.  
"We just ate like an hour or two ago." he says, gesturing to the plate of food.

She blinks, then a slow smirk spreads on her lips as she sits down on the bed and lifts up her own meal.  
"You should check your watch."

He does, and he's astounded to see the readout tell him it's 7pm, London time. eyebrows raised, he grins a little sheepishly.  
"Wow. I am... really crappy company, sorry,"

Hunger kicks in, delayed by his sleep, and he reaches out to the steaming plate on the table. It's some sort of chicken and pasta dish, so he guesses his sleepy murmur wasn't just a dream, and it smells delicious.

Sarah laughs at his comment across the way on the bed, and Chuck shakes his head in disbelief. A lifetime of Ellie's deadpan laughter and Morgan's attempts to one-up his jokes have implied he's really not that funny, and yet Sarah keeps laughing. All the time, laughing.

"It's okay. I spent a long time in the gym, they've got a great pool here so I swam too." She looks him up and down a moment. "I forgot how much you sleep when you're not used to this life."

Mouth full, he snorts a little before gulping his bite down with... a beer? An ice cold bottle sits on the table, little coaster underneath. The drink is the same brand he'd had that night in the club and it sends his stomach flip-flopping because of all the things for Sarah to remember, he'd have thought that would be low on the list. Maybe that night is burned as intensely onto her brain as it is onto his, because he certainly remembers the little things. Every little thing.

"Not used," He chuckles, ignoring his thoughts yet again. "Kinda an understatement there, Sarah. I went from 9 to 5 at a desk in DC, to... this. And I didn't even get full training at The Farm, so..." He's fishing. When she sends him a falsely sympathetic look while taking a bite of her own dinner, he's sort of caught her. Yeah, he doesn't blame her, in his years in the CIA few field agents he's met have had nice things to say about The Farm. The training there got them where they are now, sure, but it's tough. Way tougher than what Chuck had gone through post-analyst lifestyle just to be a roving tech guy, and that was still _tough_.

"I think you're doing pretty good, all things considered."

He can't help but grin at her for the compliment.

They eat in silence for a while, save the clinking of cutlery and the sounds of food and the thuds as their glasses hit tables and repeat, until a little thought occurs and he just has to speak.

"Sarah?" he says, setting his plate down and turning to see her fully, folding his arms along the back of the couch, resting his chin on his hands to look at her. "Can I ask you something?"  
He precedes it with that, because though they've been chatting all day, this is personal. This gets into things.

"...Yeah?" She sounds hesitant, but not guarded. It's enough for him to keep going.

"How long have you been a spy?"  
He's tried to put the pieces together himself, but it's tricky. She's perky at 4am, she's exhausted the clichés, she's used to this life, and already he's sure she's the best spy he's ever known, better than his trainers, better than those he encountered as an analyst, she's just amazing, perfect. He knows he'll never reach her level. Not that he knows what her level is; though she'd received his file when they'd been partnered up, Chuck had gotten very little about Sarah. No prior history, no mission logs, no dates. She seems to be more mysterious than most spies are, somehow. And so it begs the question. He reaches for his drink again.

She tenses a little, but just like in the store, she doesn't close up, doesn't stay restrained and restricted, just mimics his prior movement and sets down her plate too, like she knows this could get serious. Her trust in him, her openness, is still surprising, and still... well, he likes it, for sure.  
"A long time. They recruited me in high school."

He almost spits out his beer, eyes widening.  
"High school?!" he asks, disbelief swarming him. "You were, what, still a _child_? Jesus, Sarah, I-"

"Chuck." she interrupts, voice tight, breath a little ragged, and he runs a hand over his face to process the information, to try and stop it from getting to him. When he looks up at her, her jaw is clenched, her hands fisted tight on her lap, but then her eyes meet his and he sees her sigh, relax. It's a confusing move, to say the least, but she's still being open with him, even here, and he can't help but feel a little happy at that. "You won't believe this because you're a good guy, but... it was for the best, being recruited then, it really was."

As much as he wants to believe that, wants to revel in her little compliment too, he just can't. He is filled with sorrow and anger and sympathy and he hasn't the slightest clue what to do with it. Someone, at some point, took a child, and for whatever reason, shaped her into a spy. No matter if Sarah thinks it was for the best, no matter if it really was, there's something still seriously wrong with that in Chuck's mind.  
But it clears things up for him, he guesses. He doesn't know how old Sarah is, she never told him and he's not gonna ask now, that's too intrusive after her just opening up with this information, but he'd guess she's around his age, maybe a little older, though her additional spy experience might just be affecting his judgment on that a little. Either way, she's right, she's done this job a long, long time, it's no wonder she's so good at it. It must be a part of her, a big part, as big a part as breathing, as living. He wonders, absentmindedly, if he makes up any part of that now too. He clears his throat.

"I can't even imagine, what it must be like. Doing this job for that long."

The smile she sends him as she shrugs is a little self-deprecating, but it's still a smile, and it still predictably makes his heart race just a little.  
"It's all I've really ever known. But I'm okay with it. And- I'm sorry, but... can we leave it at that, please?"

"Of course." He means that, wholly. He'd never want to go too far, never want to risk this when they're still just coming to know one another, or even, just maybe, after that, too.

He returns to his dinner and sends her a smile. She returns it in kind, wide and warm, and he holds back a sigh. It's okay. For now.

* * *

He eyes the coffee stand with hunger. Or, with thirst. Or, with exhaustion.  
Whichever way, he can smell the caffeinated fumes, can see the puffs of hot steam streaming out of people's cups as they step away, and it's only a few feet away from where he and Sarah have been standing for the past half hour and he just really wants a hot drink right now. The night on the couch wasn't as comfortable as he'd hoped, not with those tough cushions and Sarah sleeping just feet away, not with her breathing loud and even and audible to him, reassuring. His nap early yesterday had helped him then, but it had also meant he hadn't gotten to sleep until the early hours of the morning because he was no longer so worn out he wanted to faint, and the early wake up call today with that all combined has just left him, well, so worn out he wants to faint once more.

But that early wake up call actually allowed him to do some work, the only little tech thing he's got on this mission. Both he and Sarah hadn't been sure why Graham had assigned it to them other than to let them get to know how the other works better; it's an easy switch, and Chuck only used his computer skills to confirm the location with Doyle this morning, plus, Sarah isn't getting to do much ass-kicking. But as Chuck is quickly learning, orders are orders. They take what they get given, simple, or difficult, or not.

However, taking orders and working for the CIA might do good, Chuck muses, and it might be good money, but at this very minute, he's not sure if it's worth losing his sleep and his extremities over. Because right now his toes are cold and his fingers are impossibly impossibly numb; in fact, if he did go buy a coffee, he wouldn't even be able to hold it, and that would just be a complete waste.

Sarah rubs her hands together next to him.  
"Five minutes to go, I'm gonna head into position. You'll be okay?" He nods, not wanting to have to push his scarf down from around his nose and mouth just to speak. Sarah bites her lip, and he thinks it might be to suppress a smile. "When this is over, Chuck, we'll go get a coffee, inside. Where it's warm."

He tries to say _You're an angel_ but the scarf muffles it and she just chuckles before hopping down off the sidewalk and crossing to the other side of the road running through the park. That was probably for the better.

She sits down on a bench, crossing her legs neatly in front of her and resting her briefcase on her lap, ready for her part of the mission like she'd outlined yesterday. She'll set the case down to her right once Doyle arrives, and he'll set his down, and then she'll stand and lift his just like in the movies, apparently, but until then she keeps it on her person.  
With Chuck's tiny tech part of the mission done already, he's more here now to observe and report, really, keep an eye on things, make sure Doyle acts by the book. He's not meant to have any backup, anyone looking out for him, and Chuck has to be a lookout... for the potential lookout. If anything suspicious arises, he can run back and tell the CIA and they'll tug Doyle up and out of his cozy cushy Anglophile life and drag him back across the Atlantic faster than the guy could blink.

Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket to check the time instead of exposing his wrist to the cold air to check his watch, Chuck sees there's three minutes to go, something he's way too relieved about. The sooner the mission begins, the sooner it's over, and the closer he is to being warm again.  
The tourists and locals swarming through the park seem to be wrapped up equally as tight as Chuck is, though, so at least it is actually pretty cold and his California blood isn't just playing tricks on him. He's lived in DC for years, sure, but visits to Ellie had been pretty frequent until he'd been promoted, especially in winter, over the holidays, and old habits die hard.

Thirty more seconds pass, but then he sees Sarah stiffen her back, tighten her grip on the briefcase, and worry flares in him as he scans the area to try and figure out the reason for her current stress. He can't put it down to anything until he sees the old woman toddling her way, about to ease herself down onto the bench right where Doyle is meant to sit in just two minutes time.

Well, crap. They really didn't see this coming. Though in hindsight, it's a public bench, they really really should've done.

Sarah doesn't look to him, doesn't give the game away for Chuck knows that could give his position away to Doyle or one of his illegal henchmen if they're already watching the area, but he can tell she's lost. He can tell, it's up to him.

And so, diving off the pavement, he rushes over to the bench, tugging the warmth from his face painfully and ignoring Sarah entirely, which is tough because her blue scarf is really making her eyes pop today and also he just really likes to look at her, and instead he sets a gentle if firm grip on the woman's arm just before she's about to sit.

"I'm so sorry ma'am, but that's wet paint!" It's the first thing that came to mind. It's a terrible first thing.

The old woman looks up at him in confusion, casting her gaze to Sarah who looks on seemingly unfazed, then looking back at him, perplexed.  
"But she's sitting there."

"Yes, but I'm afraid it's just this side. There was a sign but it just... blew off in the wind!"  
It's not that windy today, just cold. He's terrible at this. Holding back a grimace, he keeps waiting.

The woman nods, slowly.  
"Oh... okay then." she says, apparently guessing this weird dude holding her arm isn't gonna give up. He whispers an apology to old women everywhere- usually, he's not this much of an ass to them.

"I'll tell you what, ma'am, there's a nice dry bench next to that coffee cart over there, can I buy you a cup of tea for the trouble?"

"Yes... I suppose that sounds nice." The woman sounds like the Queen, Chuck thinks, except confused and somewhat pissed. But he's just in time, he realizes, because as he helps her down off the little sidewalk and onto the path, he sees Doyle approaching further up the road, slowing and stumbling a bit probably at seeing Chuck and this woman so close to the exchange site.

"Come on grandma!" Chuck says loudly, in his best English accent (it really is quite good).

Doyle snorts then moves to sit on the bench. Chuck thanks god that the woman isn't looking because the last thing this almost-disaster needs is an elderly woman telling a criminal the bench he's sitting on has wet paint.  
The woman also just ignores Chuck's yell, and the fact that he's suddenly switched accents, and keeps walking with him to the other, 'drier', bench.

When Sarah sidles up to the two of them five minutes later, new-but-identical briefcase in hand, he can almost see her smirking even though he's not looking at her face. Ethel takes a sip of her tea and Chuck clutches his espresso awkwardly. He hadn't managed to make up an excuse to just hang around, which he needed to do since Doyle would probably find a young man's abandoning his grandmother on a park bench just a little weird, and he had to keep watch and wait for Sarah anyway, so he'd just stood next to Ethel in silence once they got their drinks and he'd asked her name.

No henchmen appeared, lurking behind trees or glaring at the bench inquiringly. Doyle went right by the book, sitting next to Sarah unspeaking, flicking through a newspaper and moving to pick up his new briefcase the moment Sarah had stepped away. Chuck sighs. Their bad guy can continue to run free, and he's got to be okay with that.

"Excuse me, madam?" Sarah says, ignoring him and facing Ethel whilst sounding remarkably like Kate Winslet, oddly enough, with a clipped English accent. Chuck tries not to choke on his coffee at the surprise but it's a hard task when Sarah's voice sounds so different and somehow even more silky and dreamy than normal. "Was this man bothering you five minutes ago? I would have intervened but I was waiting for a friend." Ethel tries to speak but Sarah interrupts her. "Oh, anyway, I'll get him out of your hair for you, shall I? Enjoy your tea!"

She tugs on Chuck's arm, and only when they're out the park gates and headed down a busy street does she burst into laughter. He'd fake offense more if she didn't sound so gleeful and upbeat, her laugh so real and ridiculous. She's clinging to his arm, one of her own wrapped round it and her other hand reaching up to grasp his forearm, and her head rests on his shoulder as she laughs against him. He chuckles too, but it's not quite as funny for him apparently, so he just leans into her and suppresses the urge to relish the moment.

"How'd the drop go?" he asks through his teeth, making use of their proximity.

She doesn't miss a beat, talking through her smile, her accent magically gone.  
"Perfect. Thanks to you."

"I may have lost my dignity and probably offended old ladies for life because they totally have a network and all know each other, but hey, it's worth it if the United States Government got their codes."

Sarah just frowns at him, laughing still, and the combination of expressions makes him laugh.  
"You did great, you were... very resourceful."

He loosens his arm, moving to hold her waist and pulling her in so the two of them take up less space on the busy sidewalk, and he knows it creates a good cover. They must look like a real couple, a real cold wintry couple taking a stroll through London.

"You're a good partner, Chuck." she says, out of the blue, a smile in her voice. He stumbles a little but Sarah either doesn't notice or just doesn't let on. Instead she laughs, wryly. "I sort of hoped you wouldn't be, I was- I was set on calling Graham after our first mission and telling him I couldn't work with you. That's why I was so... stubborn."

She rolls her eyes, but really, he can't blame her past self- if he'd been in her shoes, he'd be stubborn too. She must've thought the man she'd met, slept with, had lied completely, having no idea why, and then he just waltzed in, probably seeming pretentious, cold, and she had to work with him.

Somehow, he speaks. Because he already knew that, again, not in so many words but he'd gathered it, but once more her actively telling him is so open, so trusting, it's such progress.  
"What happened?"

"You." she says, like it's obvious. "I realized somewhere during that mission you were too good to let go of."

He doesn't reply, can't, because though she means it in the sense of them being partners, he's sure, his mind starts reeling and his heart starts racing just at her words, the idea she might mean more, and this is all getting way more intimate and close than he'd planned, way more perfect. They keep walking, but when they pass the second coffee shop in a row, she pulls him back to a stop.

"I thought you wanted a drink?"

"Aha, no I'm good, thanks, I got my coffee with Ethel."  
Truthfully, he feels much warmer than he did ten minutes ago, and he's sure that's got a lot to do with Sarah's laughing and holding onto him and telling him such lovely things and not much to do with the scalding bitter espresso he'd bought.

"Ethel?" she asks, bemused, as she turns to face him, still so close her chest brushes up against his as she looks up at him. "Well, you might've had your date with another woman, but I still want a coffee."

He nods, brushing his thoughts right over the association of the two of them and a date for the second time in so many days. If only because her smiling up at him like that and his arm still round her waist reminds him of Barcelona, and then all too easily he's back in that morning in her hotel room, Sarah making him jump out his skin, Sarah being all pressed up against him, her soft limbs curled right round him. An unfamiliar feeling stabs him in the chest. He thinks it might be longing.

"Okay then," she says with a grin that clearly implies he's paying, though he still hasn't said a word. She moves to turn around, but he reaches for her hand as she steps away.

"Sarah?" She turns back to him, questioning, an eyebrow raised. People mill past them on the sidewalk. "Goes without saying, but... I think you're a great partner, too."

When she smiles at him, it's big and warm and her eyes crinkle at the sides and he falls just a little more before she dips her head in a thanking nod, then tugs on his hand and drags him into the warmth of a coffee shop.

He's not sure, but with that drop, with his intervening and Sarah's laughing so much, so wonderfully, with her saying things like that and his inability to stop smiling right now and everything just feeling so natural, he thinks she might've just let go.

He thinks they just... clicked.

* * *

 **a/n 2:** Aww, stuff happened. I know, I know, it's by no means all resolved and there's a long way to go yet, but trust me, that's coming. Up next, some downtime, and some ice cream. Please feel free to leave a review, and see you next week!

-Kiera :)


	4. Chicago LA

**summary:** On his last night home in LA before becoming a field agent, Chuck finds himself begrudgingly dragged to a nightclub, all thanks to Morgan. But what he meets there, or rather, who he meets there, is about to change his life, and his future spy career, in ways he can't possibly imagine. Partnered up, Chuck and Sarah have to navigate the spy life, missions, their memories of that fateful night, and a whole lot of feelings. AU.

 **a/n:** And we're back! I don't think I've got as much to ramble about this time, so once more thank you thank you for your reviews, y'all rock, and let's let this slight change of pace begin with no further ado. There's two parts here, which is a little different to prior chapters, so please let me know what you think!  
 **disclaimer:** I don't own Chuck, photographs, or ice cream, though I adore all three in equal measure. Sorta.

* * *

 **november**

After London, he falls into such an easy partnership with Sarah it's almost scary. Graham gives them deep missions, intense missions, dangerous missions, and all of them pass in blurs, peaks of intense adrenaline jumping straight to flat out exhaustion, constant airplanes and trains and cabs all over the world. Chuck out-hacks a terrorism ring in Greece one day and foils a coup in Dubai the next. He uses every skill and gadget he has in his arsenal again and again and again, whether sitting in a van and letting Sarah go solo, revelling in her interrogational skill and her impossibly strong fighting ability, or going headfirst into the mission with her, undercover as computer techs or drunk partygoers or hipster employees, and yes, often as a couple.  
He'd thought being a spy would be rewarding, feel thrilling, but he never imagined it would be this good, and he's one hundred percent sure that's all down to Sarah. She is, in no uncertain terms, an incredible partner.

Cracking his neck, he pushes himself away from the little desk in the hotel room, report finalised and submitted, laptop closed. True to Sarah's word after their first mission, he hasn't gotten to see much of the places he's visited on operations, and this past one has been no exception. They've spent a week and a half in Chicago chasing down a group of extremely resourceful students who all thought they were some sort of heroes for betraying their government and endangering a lot of lives in the process, and all Chuck's managed to see was The Bean out of the cab window when they'd arrived, and an obstructed view of the skyline the two nights they've slept in the hotel.  
Those were two nights on the couch while Sarah took the bed, that is, and all other nights have been spent cooped up in the car staking out the students. The first night had been weird and silent, being his first all-night stakeout Chuck had no idea what to do or say, but by the second, he'd prepared a mix Sarah had nodded along to while watching outside through binoculars, so he thinks she'd liked it. They'd settled, somewhat, after that, getting more comfortable stuffed into close proximity with each other, constantly being alert.

The combination of both uncomfortable sleeping locations, though, has led to his bones aching considerably, and he'll be glad for the reprieve he'll have when they get back to DC, brief as that will inevitably be.

The shower shuts off, and he lets his thoughts wander to his partner whilst simultaneously ignoring the thoughts of her and the shower for yet another time because he's noticed before, many many times now, he has first-hand experience of knowing what that looks like. Sharing a hotel or motel room as they often have to do definitely has its downfalls.

Downfalls aside, though, he and Sarah are more in-tune than he'd ever thought possible for just being over a month into their partnership. The two-way trust that underlines every action helps, sure, but there's something else Chuck can feel, something deeper, more instinctual. She steps back to let him work on a computer system, he moves out the way when she's about to kick some ass. They come to conclusions together, as one, saying them aloud at the exact same time like some clichéd moment. If she runs, he knows just when to follow and just when to wait. It's unlike anything he's ever known before, ever felt, and he just can't imagine doing this with anyone else even though so little time has passed. And though they still have awkward moments, yes, the odd exchange that doesn't quite work or harks both their memories back to the time they haven't exactly ignored, more just haven't discussed in any way shape or form, even with that, he feels they've gotten past it, learnt how to be with each other in the best way possible for this job. They lean on each other, probably more so than they should, but they know when to stop as well. They don't push the boundaries.  
And yet, despite all that, Chuck can't deny, he still longs for her. Still can't help the recollection every now and then of how she'd kissed him, how she'd felt wrapped around him. Still can't help the sadness that fills him when she doesn't quite smile at him the way she did that night. Still can't stop the urge that rises in him sometimes, desperate and willing to fall into her entirely because oh, it would just be so easy to.

He runs a hand through his hair roughly to try and clear his head, knowing he certainly can't be lost in these kinds of thoughts when Sarah re-emerges from the bathroom, probably only in a few seconds from now. Standing, he heads to his bag instead, pulling out his wallet, the one he keeps in his suitcase and never carries around on his person on missions both out of fear and because it's one of the key things his trainers and superiors had tried to drill into him: no attachments, no connections. He can't help it, though.  
Slipping out the already-worn pictures, with crinkled corners and dusty tape sticking the two together, he smiles at his family, mind clearing and focus reigning in yet again. These people, these moments, they're why he's here.

Ellie and him are in one, Chuck pulling a stupid face, Ellie laughing into her glass of wine, and Morgan and Devon join them in another, this one from his last birthday, not the one just passed, no he'd been finishing training during that one, but last year, when he was still an analyst, when vacation time actually meant something. They're all smiling as Ellie holds up a slice of cake to the camera and Morgan holds up a video game, for some reason.

He'd printed the photographs off the day after his Red Test, on the most secure laptop he owned and using a false account just in case, but Chuck knows he needed them, needed the reminder then that a killer, even an accidental one, wasn't who he was. And now he needs them to remind himself that he has the best possible reason for running around the world as a spy, that being this exhausted and aching is completely worth it, because when he keeps the world or the country or the city safe, he saves these people, and millions of others just like them.

He'd been uncertain about carrying these around with him long-term, but after London, when he'd realized this partnership with Sarah was a permanent definite thing, he'd slipped the wallet into his suitcase when he'd been back in DC, and since then it's just come along. Because also, with Sarah, honestly, sometimes he just needs something to keep him grounded, to remind him why he's keeping his distance. To remember he has a good reason for this.

The bathroom door clicks as it opens, and Chuck silently curses at his getting distracted, scrambling to fold the photographs up again, to slip them back into his wallet and hide it all away in his suitcase once more, but he knows the moment he feels the rush of hot air hit him, pooling out from the door behind him, that he's too late.

"Chuck? What are you doing?" Sarah asks, from behind him, sounding confused.

He sighs. She was bound to find out about the pictures eventually, of course, but he'd hoped he'd have a little more time before she learnt yet another weakness of his, yet another thing that shows how young and naïve he is in this game.  
She never makes him feel inferior, never seems annoyed when he asks a question, needs to confirm something, but she's so ridiculously amazing sometimes he can't help but feel a little green in comparison. He's been fully trained, sure, he wouldn't be out in the field if he hadn't, but some things you can only learn with time, experience, and watching Sarah, being with her, he's learning more all the time. The little things no amount of lectures or simulations or instructors can tell him. Those instructors had been pretty clear on keeping identifying family photographs on your person, though, and Chuck's sure Sarah's set in her ideas on those too.

"Ha. I, um."  
It's all he manages to get out, and though he's not facing her he can hear her moving closer, can imagine the frown on her face, and he makes no effort to cover his actions, even pulls the photograph out the fold he'd half slipped them back into, because there's simply no point in hiding them now.

Sarah reaches around him, her arm curling into his vision, a few beads of water still clinging to her skin, and he's distracted just a little too much by the smell of the heat of her and the soft scents of her shampoo. Her fingers slip the pictures out from his, gentler than the forceful snapping he'd imagined she might've done, so he guesses she's not too pissed or confused right now.

"Oh."

At her tone, breathy and surprised and thick, the pre-emptive wince falls from his face, and he spins round to face her quickly, ignoring the dampness of her hair that throws him back to months ago, ignoring the way her pajamas are clinging to her warm wet skin, brushing over all that and just looking at her.

She's staring at the photographs, looking stunned and a little lost, eyes wide but brow furrowed the tiniest bit.  
"Is this Ellie?" she asks, still sounding surprised, and he gapes.

"You remember?"  
He's not sure why he says it, why he'd apparently expected her not to recall what he'd told her on the most important night and morning of his life, and certainly at least a somewhat significant time in hers since they now work together. But they've never talked about it, never discussed all they'd discussed back then, and though he thinks about his sister and his friends often, he never mentions them. He tries to keep them safe, to keep the distance, because without them safe, there's not much point in him doing this job anymore.  
Either way, he wouldn't blame Sarah for forgetting his ramblings on the family he gushed to her about and she now knows he lies to on a daily basis.

But no, she just frowns.  
"Of course." Her tone is a little hurt-sounding, and her expression looks so too, as she turns her gaze up to him with a fire in her eyes, and he wants to apologize and take it back but he knows that'll get him nowhere. So he lets the silence fall and sit and eventually Sarah looks back down. A smile blooms on her face, so sudden and warm and real it stuns him. "She's beautiful. And she looks like you."

He chuckles but really he's stuck on her sincerity, at the affection that's slipped back into her voice, and he briefly imagines they're having this conversation in another world where they didn't sleep together just to have this giant barrier that is their being partners for the CIA ruining any chance they had, messing up their connection and complicating it tenfold. He imagines they're just two people, talking about his family like nothing at all is the matter here.  
"She is." he murmurs with a nod, and Sarah looks elsewhere in the picture, expression turning funny.

"Is... Is this Captain Awesome?"

God, he laughs again, smiles, because that ridiculous nickname should not sound so good falling from her lips. So normal.  
"Yeah, that's Devon."

The other person in the picture is Morgan, of course, but Sarah doesn't ask about him and Chuck's sure if she remembers his sister and her boyfriend just from tales on the balcony then she'll remember Morgan, if only as his drunken friend at the club with a habit of losing his shirt inexplicably.

She looks up at him again, a faint smile still on her lips, but he's floored by the warmth in her eyes, at the realness of her gaze, the simple ease that just a month before he thought he'd never see again. The grin that had been on his lips fades.  
"You miss them." It's not a question. She reaches out, photographs in hand.

He takes them back from her, taking another reassuring look before folding them securely again.  
"Yeah, I..." He kills some time by putting the photographs back in his wallet, putting that back in the suitcase, putting off the moment he brings up the seemingly unavoidable because if they're going to do this, be this honest right now, he has to bring up their time together, has to. Keeping his distance, he folds his arms across his chest.

"I, uh, I never really told you this. Because it's not... It's not, y'know, something you tell someone..." 'You've just met', or 'you're about to sleep with', or 'you've been partnered with just after you've slept together', he doesn't know what he's about to say, really, but Sarah nods a little awkwardly and seems to understand. He clears his throat. "My parents were never there, growing up. Mom left when I was nine, Dad when I was just a teenager, Ellie, she's all I have, she raised me. And I know what I'm doing is good, I don't- I don't regret this, but it's still tough, to..."

"To keep the truth about what you do, from the woman that raised you." Sarah murmurs, voice so soft, warm like her gaze, and he tries not to stare at her in disbelief.  
Of course she would know exactly what he was about to say, of _course_ she'd know that. He really should expect nothing less. After a month working with her, he's very aware she seems to know him better than anyone else, somehow.

He nods.  
"To go from talking to her all the time, to radio silence every mission, it's tough. And— and it's not like me. Like us." And he hates it. The spy life may have been great, with Sarah, but not talking to Ellie, or to Morgan or anyone, it sucks. And in that downtime between missions, sat by himself in his lonely DC apartment, call him cheesy but he just wants to talk to his sister. He knows she can never know what he's doing, for so so many reasons including national security, but god he wants to tell her. Wants her to know he's doing good, wants her to know why he has to be so distant. Wants someone to talk to about Sarah. Ellie's always given the best advice, even if sometimes he didn't want to hear it.

Sarah smiles a little, understanding.  
"You're close."

"Yeah. I've sent her like two texts from DC, just letting her know I'm alive. I know that's more than I'm supposed to have done, but I can't just stop, y'know? I don't know how long it'll be before she thinks I'm just giving up. And— and that's what I was thinking about that morning, by the way." He doesn't have to say which morning. She knows. "Not that I don't get to see her much, though that too, but..." He shrugs, sighs, trailing off into silence that lasts for a good couple beats.

Sarah shuffles from foot to foot, and he watches as she avoids his gaze though he seeks hers out. He has no idea what she's about to say but he can suddenly sense it's important, significant.  
"At first I didn't know if you'd lied."

He blinks, tries to stop his eyebrows from raising in pure surprise. He's lost.  
"What?"

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, frame tensing before his eyes.  
"When I saw you in Graham's office, I wasn't sure if you'd lied about everything, or... fabricated it. I didn't know if I'd even met Chuck B- you, or not."

Ordinarily he'd be surprised at her cutting off before she says his real name, in full, but he's too overwhelmed with hurt to let that bother him- is that what Sarah had thought? Is that what he made her feel? Did she honestly look at him in that office that morning and doubt everything they'd had, think he'd _made it up_ just to what, to bed her? God, how much of a douche did he appear to be? He tries to swallow the feelings down but they get stuck, taste bitter and thick in his throat.

"Oh." he says, voice flat.

She steps closer.  
"I-I knew eventually, but... Chuck, no spy tells their life to a stranger. I couldn't believe that any agent would have any good reason for telling me something that real."

"We weren't really strangers."  
He has a million things to object to, really, that he's not a good spy then, that Sarah just had that effect on him, but, considering what had happened when she'd said that before, he finds that's what rushes out first. He'd thought she'd been so trusting, telling him her name, but maybe it wasn't that big a deal to her, maybe she didn't think it made them know each other any better, where to him it definitely did.

She looks up at him again, eyes wide and entirely indecipherable for once.  
"You're right." She licks her lips. "We weren't."

A flood of memories assaults his senses, overwhelming and raw and painful, and he knows he's kept them just about suppressed over this past month, kept everything tucked away fairly neat and secure if always present, but this conversation has blown them all apart again, returned them full force and it's staggering, shocking, just how much he misses her all over again. Perhaps she feels it too, stood only a few feet away still tense and folded up within herself, but he has no way of knowing, not really. But she must know, she has to know why he'd told her those things, why he'd been so open and honest. Has to know just what he'd felt that night when they'd met the first time, the shock to the system, the sense of finding something he hadn't even known he'd lost, and finding something so perfect and wonderful in Sarah on top of that. She'd been everything he didn't know he'd been looking for, hadn't known he'd needed, but he did, and he still does, every day. He needs her.  
No spy tells their life to a stranger, but he hadn't been a spy, and she hadn't been a spy, and they were in no way just strangers.

"I'm sorry that's how I made you feel." he gets out, eventually, after way too much time has passed in silence that's not awkward per say, just drowning and heavy and awful because it could be so so much easier. He's trying to get over it, over this, but that he seemed so awful in her eyes when he'd been stunned and dreaming of her is just seared into his thoughts.

"No, Chuck..."

He shrugs, acting casual when he's anything but, interrupts.  
"It's okay."

"No, it's-"  
She cuts herself off, and he sees her flinch, straighten perceptibly as if she realizes words won't overcome this, and before he knows it she's striding the few feet to him. He briefly flashes back to that morning, standing in the hall just after their shower, when he'd been about to leave and she'd kissed him sweet and sad and sudden.

Today, though, she wraps her arms round him in a hug, pulls him close, tight, her hands round his shoulders and her face against his neck, and she keeps moving, keeps shifting against him until he gets over the shock and surprise and the remaining hurt and slowly wraps his arms around her. It is, somehow, even more intimate than a kiss.  
And god how he's missed this, missed something he hardly even knew, missed this closeness both in proximity and emotion, missed this ability to say things only through a touch. She's still so soft and warm in his arms, curved right to him like she was always meant to be here, with him, a perfect fit. It's like no time has passed at all, and like eons have edged by at the same time.

She pulls away and he's surprised how easy it is to let go of her despite the aching taking residence in his chest once more. The smile she sends him is a little tight and tinged with sadness, but it's real. Her eyes just start to crinkle at the sides.

"We should get some sleep." she murmurs, oh so quiet.

He nods, lets her slip away and head to the bed before he moves toward the couch, shutting the lights off as he goes. The brightness of the Chicago skyline slips through the cracks in the curtains as the only light in the room, and Sarah's under the covers in the relative darkness just as he pauses before settling down, just as he stops. He can't leave her uncertain on this.

"Sarah?" He sees her tense in the bed, blurred shoulders stiffening a little, but she doesn't sit up or look at him, which he's kind of glad for. It's easier to talk, somehow, when he doesn't have to look her in the eye. Doesn't have to spot the emotions, or often lack of emotions, sitting there in her gaze. "Just... I need you to know, it was all me then, all real. It's always been real."

She doesn't respond, and he doesn't expect her to, so he just crawls onto the uncomfortable couch that's far too short for him, hauls a blanket over his legs, and tries, in vain, to sleep.

* * *

Two weeks later, and despite his best efforts, they find themselves in Los Angeles. He'd fought against it, called Graham after they'd received their orders and expressed his concerns for his cover, but the Director had said that he had every faith in Chuck's abilities to lay low, which was odd, and had also assured him that the _necessary steps_ would be taken should his cover be blown, and Chuck had been too sickened by the idea of what those steps may be that he'd just agreed and hung up.

Truth be told, he's terrified. Because he hasn't been here in months, not since his vacation, and Ellie thinks he's based in DC and travelling the world with his government job, not back in LA as a spy on a stakeout, and though it's a big old city, the idea of bumping into her, or anyone he knows really, is more frightening and confusing than he can even imagine. Spies aren't meant to have any roots or connections, and times like this, he knows why.  
Add to his anxiety his partner who'd been right by him as he'd hung up on Graham, who knows how worried he is, knows just how much he misses his family because he literally told her not that long ago, and it feels like some sort of recipe for disaster.

He slams the car door shut loudly and winces, head jerking up to check if the arms dealer they're tailing has noticed anything. He's a big fish, but his contact is even bigger, and though Chuck and Sarah's missions-accomplished record is currently flawless, they still can't afford to blow it, blow this one in particular.  
The dealer keeps walking like nothing's happened, though, and Chuck can't help but sigh in relief.

"Chuck?" Sarah asks, from where she stands on the other side of the car, arms folded on the top as she looks over at him. It's not really a question that needs an answer, more of an Are You With Me thing than an Are You Okay, and he just nods as he zips up his hoodie.

"Not really the weather for it." he musters up with a smirk that Sarah returns in kind, then wanders round to her side and reaches out a hand. It's not a cover they've discussed but he knows it's the one she'll be going for and it works for him too, a couple on a November date walking down the Santa Monica pier. It's a cold day for Los Angeles but thankfully the sun is shining and taking the chill off the air, and Chuck's had worse mission situations already, like the whole damn mission in London, or that one the other week when they'd been tailing a guy in Norway and the rental car's heater had helpfully died on both of them five minutes in. He shudders at the memory, but Sarah's warm fingers curl into his and he finds himself smiling as they start walking out of the lot.

Miller is still ahead, ambling along while talking on his cell. He's calling his girlfriend, they know that from the phone tap, so it's nothing to worry about. They keep their distance.

"Morgan hangs out here a lot," Chuck murmurs once they've made it onto the pier and Miller still hasn't met with his contact. Memories of long days here with his best friend have started to flood back in the familiar surroundings, and to add to all of Chuck's worrying, the idea of walking into Morgan today is now weighing heavily on his mind. He's spent the majority of his life looking out for his friend, protecting him ever since he saved him on the playground a lifetime ago, and if the one thing that gets him hurt is Chuck's own damn _job_ , well, he'll never forgive himself, let alone wonder if Morgan would forgive him either. Yet again, he just wishes he could contact his family, his friends. Let them know more than a brief message once a month. Tell them everything.  
Sarah's hand tightens in his.

"It'll be okay, Chuck."

He should feel more apprehensive, argue that it won't be, really, since Graham has the last word, but something in Sarah's voice is always so reassuring, so confident, and he lets it go. If Morgan's in the arcade taking down some other nerd, they'll avoid him. If he sees them, they have a cover. If he gets suspicious- well, it'll be okay. Sarah said so.

They amble about for a couple minutes more, following their guy and pretending to look at stalls or arcades, they stop to pet a dog, little meaningless things, until Miller stops suddenly, eyeing a little booth selling jewellery, and Chuck has to snort. Evidently the conversation with the girlfriend didn't go so well and Miller's looking to apologize. Not that it'll matter since soon he and his contact will be arrested and the girlfriend will never have to speak to him again, but Chuck lets the guy off the hook, since he's clueless about that part.  
They don't want to get too close, though, so when they get within a reasonable distance he tugs on Sarah's hand and drags her over to the nearest stall. It's selling ice cream, on a fairly chilly day, in November, which seems a little pointless. He sorta wants to move them over to the cotton candy stall across the way instead, but he's here now and it works, so he sends a quick eh-what-the-hell look Sarah's way and turns to the surprised looking server.

"Two, uh..." He looks down at the selection, chooses a good flavor at random. "Two rocky roads, thanks."

Sarah lets go of his hand pretty quickly, but he figures it's to reach for the ice cream when it comes and he just shrugs it off as the server picks up two waffle cones. Chuck pays quickly when he sees Miller start to pay for his own gift, and by the time the guy's wandering off again he and Sarah are following, one hand in the others' and the other one each holding a precariously full ice cream cone.

"Wow, good value for money, huh?" He looks to Sarah, expecting a smirk or a retort, but instead she's just eating her ice cream and looking a little dazed. He frowns. "You okay?"

She just licks up a melted trail as it starts to make its bid to her fingers in freedom, then nods.  
"My dad used to buy me Rocky Road." she murmurs, out of the blue. Though her words are so simple, would be so normal coming from anyone else, they make his stomach pitch suddenly with some unknown feeling, because that was real, a real fact and a real moment between them, a real truth. From Sarah. He squeezes her hand. "I broke my arm on a job once and he just bought me Rocky Road."

There's a wistful look on her face that Chuck's never seen before, and he wants to ask what kind of job- a spy job? Is she still in contact with her Dad even though that's a big violation of rules, more so than Chuck's few brief texts to Ellie; did Sarah go to her father after a mission went south? She's never mentioned him before, and though he knows she's very private about these things anyway, Chuck still kinda doubts she's close enough to the man to do that, risk so much. Plus, he figures, anyone who lets his daughter be recruited by the CIA when she's still in high school, can't be that great a Dad. If Sarah doesn't speak to him anymore, Chuck can't blame her one little bit.

He runs his thumb over her knuckles absentmindedly as he thinks a little more.

She must mean another sort of job, a real job, a con job, a... paint job? Something else entirely? He wants to ask for answers because she's being real with him here, like he'd been not so long ago, like they're both trying to be since things are so unusual and confused for them, even if for the job they're supposed to be curt and professional and distanced. But the smile on her face just tells him, she's gone. She's lost in memories, not Sarah Walker anymore, no, she's back to being whoever Sarah Walker was back then, whatever name she went by, whatever life she led before the CIA, before he met her. She knows all about him, and has the whole time they've known each other. Being open is his natural standpoint such that it's hard to not be open, whether as himself in a club, or now, as a spy. He tries to keep it in, but it's tough, especially when he's with Sarah. All his boundaries seem to just fall away around her, all his training, in the strangest way. But she's the opposite from him, she's reserved, private, and they've been working together a month and a half now and he knows so little about her, still. Most things he knows because he's asked her, and though she's answered, this, right here, is different. This is her opening up to him, unprompted. He's getting the tiniest glimpse of her to add to other tiny glimpses, and he thinks it's all he'll ever need, because that wistful look on her lips may be a little soft and dreamy, but it's also so full of aching pain he doesn't need to ever see it again. This is enough.

A cold trail of ice cream slips over his hand and he jumps out of his thoughts at the shock, hurrying to lick it up quick enough and restore the cone to a decent unmelted standard. Sarah seems to snap out of her head too, jolting a little, and when he turns his head away from her and back to Miller, he sees another figure approaching from the far end of the pier. The contact. He locks eyes with Sarah, and nods. Go time.

All thoughts of dreamy sad smiles, all his anxieties of his own, all of them are gone as he drops Sarah's hand and rounds on Miller, all save for the lingering chocolate taste on his lips. He trashes the ice cream only because he has to, a shame because it really was great stuff, but he's got a mission to complete and an arms dealer to arrest.

Slipping behind a stall selling tacky souvenirs that's thankfully unmanned at the moment, he hides, waiting until the surroundings are clear of other pier-walkers, then finds Sarah's eyes across the vast space. She blinks, and he lunges forward, and Miller doesn't see him jumping out until it's too late. The contact tries to warn him, his mouth open in attempted protest, but just as Chuck attacks, Sarah does too, leaping on the other guy from behind and twisting round to kick him in the stomach. Chuck's grab to Miller's shoulder, trying to hold him still, makes the arms dealer attack, almost predictably, and his elbow flies back and lands far too comfortably in Chuck's stomach. Though there's a gun tucked into his pants that would make things a hell of a lot easier on him, Chuck is loath to break his no bullets policy now even if god, that hit did hurt, so he defends himself, thinks of his training and lands a blow instead. Miller collapses to the ground with a loud groan, but tries to right himself, throwing a punch that doesn't land, trying to kick his feet up. Chuck manages to get back so he's only clipped by the guy's heel, then dives forward again, blocking another punch. One more hit of his own to Miller's jaw, which makes Chuck wince because that's definitely gonna bruise, and he's out.

His hands are killing him, one knuckle busted, and he's fairly winded from Miller's hit, but the guy's still breathing and Chuck's yet to shoot a single bad guy since his Red Test, so he counts it as a win, even if he'd rather not have to do any fighting at all, for his morality and honestly, his general health.

When he looks up, Sarah's standing over the once-towering contact, gun in her hand, but the lack of a gunshot and the way she's holding her weapon suggest she only pistol-whipped the guy. The guy who's twice her size but she took down whilst barely breaking a sweat. Chuck ignores how weirdly hot that is, and the fact that she's done this a good few times now, incapacitated marks so simply, one or two hits.

She raises an eyebrow but her tone isn't too serious when she speaks, more teasing as she always is when he has to fight like this. She's the muscle side of the partnership, after all, but sometimes he has to get his hands dirty too.  
"If you're done."

He nods, trying not to appear as winded and aching as he feels. They got lucky moving in, he knows, since no random other pier-walkers seem to be around then, but they can risk no more time out in the open. They both drag the two guys out of sight behind an empty little shack Chuck thinks might've once sold hotdogs or something, and then Sarah calls in the clean-up crew as he handcuffs the bad guys. Since it's such a public place, they'll have to leave them hidden and let the crew deal with them, and he and Sarah just have to get out of here in case any passers-by see a couple lurking by two unconscious dudes and somehow, for whatever reason, find that the tiniest bit suspicious.

She turns to him once she's hung up.  
"They'll be here in ten minutes, we should go." She reaches out a hand but the throbbing in his own means he doesn't take it, just nods and starts to walk as she stays behind. " _Chuck_." she says, a warning and a question in her tone, and he wants to carry on but that'll only prolong the conversation and the inevitable humiliation (more his humiliation at himself than Sarah's at him). He turns to her and waves his bloodied hand in her direction, expecting the probable laugh or the smirk that's surely to come, because he can't even handle himself in an easy fight without getting hurt, meanwhile Sarah is continually incredible, unscathed.

"Hey there's a reason I'm just the tech... guy." He trails off as she moves closer, reaches out.

Instead of brushing his injury off, he sees, she seems to be cradling his hand in hers and inspecting it. No, she really is doing that, he realizes, and she's also looking worried though he's not sure why. She frowns up at him.  
"Does it hurt?" Shaking his head, he holds back a wince as she prods the wound a little more. He's lying, it does hurt, stings like hell, really, but she doesn't seem to pick up on that which is all the more confusing. "We should head back to the motel and get some ice on it,"

And with that sudden statement, she drops his hand and turns on her heel, and she's already stepped so far away that by the time his good hand has extended to hers, his fingers only just manage to grab hold of her wrist to stop her walking away. He doesn't know what's happening, why she's so concerned now when after he'd come out of their first mission post-London with a bruise to the jaw from an angry just-burned asset, she'd looked at it, nodded, and told him he'd be fine. Or when one of the bad guys had thwacked him over the head in Dubai, she'd handed him some ice and left him so she could go coordinate with the local cops.  
Maybe it's the situation, the fact that he had to get involved because the odds were better one-on-one and Graham had said so, maybe it's the lingering memories of her father plaguing her thoughts, Chuck doesn't know, but he can't let it sit like this. They've still got time before the clean-up crew arrive.

"C'mon," he murmurs, tugging her toward him, slipping his hand into hers, and she steps in time with him as he heads back the way they came. The server at the stall seems a little perplexed they ate their first portions so quickly, but obliges when Chuck asks for just one more Rocky Road. He hands it to Sarah once it's passed over the counter.

"You didn't get to finish your last one." he explains as she sends him a look and they start walking back to the car. "Plus, y'know, it's not a broken arm but I did get injured."

She laughs at that which surprises him a little, he wasn't sure that'd go down so well, but she does chuckle and sends him a smile and takes a quick bite.  
"That means I should've bought you one, not the other way around, you know that, right?"

He shrugs. He knows.  
"Eh, semantics."

As she takes another lick of the cone, she looks around him to glance at his injured hand. It's not hurting so much now, just a dull throb, so he knows it's not too bad.  
"You need a gun." she states, and he blinks.

"I have a-"

"A tranq gun." she interrupts, and he frowns as he processes her words. Tranq guns aren't CIA issue, they're not sanctioned like the one at the small of his back right now is, and he's not sure Graham would like one half of his new 'highly impressive' (Graham's words at the last briefing, not Chuck's) partnership going round tranqing bad guys left right and centre. But maybe they could sell it. Maybe it'd work, an excuse for Chuck to not get into hand-to-hand combat when they just have to arrest someone. And Sarah knows he hates guns, he's never told her in such words but she knows, she's seen him hesitate, go in with his fists instead even though he's always more bound to lose with them. "Hand-to-hand combat might work in situations like that, but a gun is easier. It's one shot. I wish it wasn't the case, but it's true. You should get a tranq gun."

He nods even as, internally, he's curious about her proposition, and about her wishing guns weren't the easiest way to deal with trouble. She's yet to actually truly shoot someone during their missions, Chuck realizes suddenly, which is a little strange to him, if also a relief. He might hate guns, hate the idea of ever shooting someone again, but Sarah's a spy, an agent, and agents rely on firearms on a daily basis. And here Sarah is, not insisting he use the gun he already has, but that he requests an all-new one. A safe one. Non-lethal.  
Despite his questions, he nods. It would certainly save him his knuckles, and his breath, and his dignity.

"Okay." he finds himself saying, and he lets Sarah eat the rest of her ice cream in peace as they head back to the parking lot.  
When they pass the arcade, he thinks he might hear Morgan yelling something like _Victory!_ , but he can't be sure. And just one look at Sarah, looking right back at him with smudges of chocolate around her mouth, a small smile on her lips, quashes the anxiety threatening to rise in Chuck's chest, and they just keep walking by. It'll be okay.

They drive to their less-than-impressive motel in relative silence, Sarah at the wheel while Chuck nurses his purpling hand. The bleeding has stopped now, at least, but it's still painful, skin pulling with the clustered dried blood.  
Once they pull into the lot, it takes them no time at all to find their tiny dark little room, and Chuck tries not to pull a face as they step into the bland and cold space again. He'd suggested the motel rather than the nicer fancy hotel the CIA had picked, because this place is more out of the way, more isolated, less like somewhere Ellie or Devon or Morgan might walk past, somehow. Like he'd thought before, the likelihood of running into any of them in LA has been so slim, and yet it's terrified him.

Sarah slips out the door again as he sits on the bed, tired and aching. He can feel the bruise blooming on his ribs where Miller's elbow had found a home, but he can also sense the weight of this mission tumbling off his shoulders, and the combination is leaving him lightheaded and sleepy. When Sarah comes back in, bucket of ice under her arm, he's just about ready to call it a day even though it's only late afternoon.

"God, I'm tired," he murmurs, running his better hand over his face. He feels her step closer but doesn't bother opening his eyes, sleepy as he is.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asks, concern so heavy in her voice it makes him feel instantly terrible for worrying her.

"Just tired anyway, you know how I get. But yeah, uh, my hand's a little better, I just think my chest is gonna kill for a couple days." He peels open his eyes to see her close all of a sudden, and frowning. He smirks a little, brushing off yet another injury, since there's not much they can do about this one, anyway. He points to his chest. "Miller got in a lucky hit."

She blinks.  
"Oh. Okay." He says nothing in reply, still confused at how worried she is, how unsettled, and instead just watches as she rummages about in her suitcase and finds a pale pink t-shirt he'd never have guessed was hers. She tips the ice onto it before tying it up in a makeshift little wrap and handing it over. "Here."

He eyes her warily but takes it anyway, hissing when the freezing hard cold hits his hot pulsing skin, the contrast sharp and painful. It soon ebbs away, though, as a numbing feeling begins to spread through his hand, cooling the swelling around his injury and easing the sharp pain of his split knuckle. Sarah keeps darting about, and he just watches as she pulls things from her suitcase and sets things down on the table near the bed, then heads into the bathroom then back out again. When she finally approaches him again with a wet washcloth in hand, she drags up a chair to sit closer, right in front of him.

"Hand." she asks, more commands, reaching out for him, and he pulls the ice away to move his hand nearer her. Her fingers holding his, though he barely feels the touch, she starts washing off the blood gently, even tenderly, he'd say, slow so as not to irritate the skin even though it's still too numb for him to sense it anyway.

"Hey, uh," he says, watching her as she works. She's tense, and decidedly avoiding his gaze, focusing intensely on helping him instead. "Are you okay, Sarah?"

She doesn't look up at him, if anything she just pays even more attention his hand which really isn't that bad, he can see, now that the blood's washed off and the swelling is easing.  
"You're the one who's hurt. Why are you asking?" Turning round, she picks up a tube of some cream from the table behind her, followed by a butterfly bandage she places on her lap. He watches as she dabs the ointment around the cut on his knuckle, trying to work out quite how to articulate his thoughts.

"Uh, because I've been injured before and this is the first time you've... like, helped?" Well, he tried not to sound like an ungrateful asshole but he definitely failed.

Saying nothing, not frowning, not saying how bad that sounded, she just sighs a little in front of him. The cream having dried, she presses the butterfly strip against the cut and he winces at the usual sting.  
"You're my partner," she says, like it's so obvious, like that justifies this. The words will never fail to steal his breath, he thinks, and now is no different. She stays looking at his hand though he's sure she's finished here. "It's never easy to see you get hurt."

With that, she does finally let go of him, and he stretches out his fingers tentatively before replacing the ice round his knuckle. The cut might be dealt with but he's sure the swelling will only get worse if he doesn't try to ice it. Thinking on her words, he looks up again, finds her looking at him once more. There's a strange look in her gaze he can't quite figure out.  
"Okay. I—I mean I'm thankful for the help, but I guess I mean, why now?"

He watches as her eyes dart about a little before finding his, and she just smiles briefly at him, raising her shoulder and dropping it again.  
"You bought me rocky road."

Something in her tone just makes him smile, like it's so simple, like she couldn't see why he didn't know that, and he can't help but grin at her. Balancing the ice, he reaches out with his not-numb, although still quite cold, other hand, and laces his fingers through hers, watching as she slowly smiles back at him.  
That wasn't the reason, he knows. This partnership is constantly changing, evolving, as they move from, what, lovers to colleagues to partners to friends? And now he knows they're almost at the edge, about to move further, into the unknown of what lies ahead, into the closer and deeper, though quite what that is he's not entirely sure. He sits back and just keeps holding her hand, though, because he knows something will happen, and she knows it, too, but that doesn't mean they have to do anything to change it right now.

They stay linked like that until the ice melts, and when they part, he knows he's not the only one who feels a little reluctant.

* * *

 **a/n 2:** Eek! This one was a lil different, being less mission-focused and more talking and growth based, so please leave a review let me know what you thought! See you next week!

-Kiera :)


	5. DC

**summary:** On his last night home in LA before becoming a field agent, Chuck finds himself begrudgingly dragged to a nightclub, all thanks to Morgan. But what he meets there, or rather, who he meets there, is about to change his life, and his future spy career, in ways he can't possibly imagine. Partnered up, Chuck and Sarah have to navigate the spy life, missions, their memories of that fateful night, and a whole lot of feelings. AU.

 **a/n:** And we're back! Not gonna lie, I wasn't sure I was gonna get this posted on time, this week has been crazy and apparently moving house whilst writing two assignments is a little exhausting. But we're here! As with last week's chapter, this is a little different, and very much less mission-focused than prior chapters have been. It's a slight change of pace, and a little more... domestic, than other instalments. Like I said early on, in this fic I wanted to explore how Chuck would navigate being, well, Chuck, with the spy life, and also with his feelings for Sarah. Chuck is a pretty emotional and thinky dude (and I love him for that), and I always knew he would never take any of the spy life lightly. Some of that's been raised in prior chapters, but I particularly felt what happens in this one was necessary, for our guy to work out some of his worries and issues, so he can get past them. And, of course, he's gonna work them out with Sarah by his side, as she's dealing with her own emotions, reconciling who she was with who she's becoming. So, uh, yeah, it goes without saying, a warning for feelings and moments ahead!  
Also, fun news, this chapter marks the halfway point of this fic! Yup, this baby's ten chapters long and we're halfway there. So those getting anxious about stuff happening, or not happening, I ask you to stay calm. After all, the show we all love hardly made things a quick smooth ride. But things are on the horizon, and I promise I'm not gonna wrap things up in the very last line of the very last chapter or anything. On that note, hopefully you'll like where this chapter leads. As ever, please please please let me know what you think! Y'all are such awesome reviewers and I love hearing your thoughts! Enjoy!  
 **summary:** I don't own Chuck, digital cameras, or unused kitchen utensils.

* * *

 **december**

The Christmas lights in D.C. are bright and cheery and tasteful despite it still being early December, and though pleasant, they make him feel sick. The snow falling lightly in the capital glitters in the fading afternoon light, as yet untainted perfect carpets that crunch beneath his feet on the sidewalk. He hates it.  
If you had told six-year-old Chuck Bartowski that he'd grow up to become a mix of Scrooge and the Grinch, he probably would've screamed at you, or cried, or both, in disbelief. But then, six-year-old Chuck Bartowski would never have thought he'd grow up to become a spy, either, so it's funny how these things happen.

He cracks his neck, twisting his head and sighing in relief when the aching muscles ease a little. They finished their mission at 3am last night, or this morning, he supposes, and flew right back to Washington to meet with Graham and get given their next assignment. Always a next assignment. Another place, another task.  
This last one was tough. Deep. The kind that required a lot of infiltrating hideouts, a lot of shooting, and a lot of hand-to-hand combat. Chuck had held his own, he likes to think, every target had ended up on the ground, unconscious or nearing it, and it had been up to him to take down the head of the group while Sarah had been fighting off the seconds-in-command. The perp had fallen, tranqed after a scuffle, and Sarah had seemed relieved, pleased, even, when she'd looked over his way to find everything under control. Chuck knows that's not from some glee she gets from fighting, from beating others, but more from reassurance that it all worked out okay in the end.

The fights could've gone the other way, taken a bad turn, but he and Sarah had emerged unscathed, if aching. He's learning from her, watching how she operates, as well as falling back on his training, and that's all coming together to sorta make him feel like he's managing to settle into this life he's committed to. In fact, strangely enough, sometimes the adrenaline from a mission feels so _good_ , besting bad guys, making it through narrow escapes. It's terrifying, naturally, but also just fun, almost. Or, maybe that's just being with Sarah, doing all this, with her. Being by her side. Each time he dives into danger with her, those early nerves increasingly fade, and now he's getting into things.  
Getting into being a spy. God, sometimes he forgets this is his life now.

But he never forgets what he's left behind. And somehow, in that sense, he's hardly a spy at all.

He sighs again, in despair and discontent this time, rooting around in his coat pocket for his wallet, still ordinarily hidden in his suitcase. But since he's off-duty right now, so to speak, just wandering about the city he doesn't even think of as his home even though he lives here and comes back here after every mission, he'd slipped the wallet into his coat the moment the plane had started to land, and right now, he's glad for it in his grinchiness. It's a reassurance, a comfort, and right now, the last decider for an idea he's been pondering for days.

In some ways, he knows he'll never become the perfect spy. Because of this. But if being the perfect spy means leaving behind absolutely everything he knows, he's known, then Chuck rather thinks he doesn't want to be that at all. Even if Graham seems impressed with him every time they meet the man, even if Chuck knows he's complimenting Sarah expertly mission after mission now. There will always be a part of him, perhaps, that doesn't shut down, shut off. And he feels he's all the better for that.

He slips the pictures out of their confines, flips them open, and just one look at the picture of him and Ellie smiling and happy and safe, and he's decided.

Last month's mission to LA was a risk, one that could've blown his cover sky-high, could've put everyone he loves in danger. It didn't, of course, they'd made it out of California safely with no repercussions. But there could've been some, a lot. And Chuck knows a large reason for that, is because nobody really knows where he is, what he's doing. That lack of contact, that lying, that he's been loathing for so long now, that he was apprehensive about this past summer, all of that has led to his family and friends barely having heard from him for months. And though he'd warned them, let them know it might happen, he knows they won't have been expecting it to this degree. Nobody would've expected him to just drop off the map, one text a month, always apologizing for being so busy. Least of all his sister.

Chuck Bartowski takes time for people, his friends, his family, Chuck Bartowski knows how important they all are to him, lets them know too, Chuck Bartowski stays in touch.  
Charles Carmichael isn't supposed to have that luxury.

But Chuck knows he has to do something, has to let them know he's okay. The fact that this feeling is coinciding with the dawning holidays just makes the matter all the more pressing.

"I'm gonna email her." he says, as he slips the wallet back into his coat, photographs too.

Sarah stops in her steps just behind him. Despite his rather frequent dreams, he doesn't usually stroll cold city streets with his partner unless there's a mission attached, but she'd just kept following him after they'd walked out of their debriefing at headquarters and here they are now. She must have noticed something was up. He wonders why that feels quite so unsettling. By now, he's better at keeping his thoughts to himself than he used to be. Or, he hopes so at least, he's had some thoughts about Sarah, memories resurfacing, distracted tangents in his mind as he remembers how she'd felt in his arms oh so long ago, but she definitely hasn't called him out on those so he doesn't think she's been able to tell where his head's at. This, though, has slipped through the cracks, somehow. Through the mask.

"What?" she asks, sounding confused, but also stunned. Like she's connected the dots but doesn't know if she's done so rightly or not.

"Ellie." He swallows. "I'm gonna email her to let her know I won't make it for Christmas, and... make up some crap or other about why." He keeps walking.

"What?" Sarah repeats, tone colder now.

He just frowns, though she won't even see it, still behind him as she is.  
"I said-"

"I heard what you said." Her interruption is low. A little icy, but more in a sorrowful, sad way, than anything directly angry. "But... Chuck, you know that's not safe, you know that could put her in danger. Contacting her so directly, giving away that you'll be busy. If someone read it…"

He turns to her, finding her standing stopped in the middle of the empty sidewalk, looking exasperated. A little worried. At his slowing too, she moves in, steps right up to him in that close way she often does, chest brushing his and looking right up at him and making his head spin. She tugs on the open lapels of his coat, clearly trying to get his attention, but he's made up his mind, and even her distractingly close presence can't change it. Even if he's tempted to fall into her, let her win.

"I can't disappoint her."

She sighs, brow furrowing.  
"You'll-"

"I lie to her, Sarah!" It echoes around the quiet street, harsh, reverberating. There's nobody around, but if there were, they'd stare. He takes a deep breath, tries to calm himself. "Every single day of my life right now is just a lie to her, and Devon, and Morgan. I haven't contacted them since we started working together, I haven't spoken to my sister in more than two sentences since my vacation, since you and I-" Since he'd met Sarah and, frankly, his world had changed. But he can't go there now. He just can't, he knows it, and he's glad he stopped himself there because this could've turned into something else entirely, and fast.

Her expression softens, a little, and she fiddles with a button on his jacket.  
"I know. But you told me you took this job to keep them safe, remember? Contacting anyone the way you want to, even Ellie, even for a good reason- you know that endangers them. It…" She trails off, refusing to look at him. Swallows, visibly. "It endangers you, too."

He sighs, wanting to lean into her, wanting to pull her closer, all while being so mad at her stubbornness at the same time.  
"My mom left us. My dad left us. Left _her_ , left Ellie. I- I can't be another disappointment to her, Sarah," He hears as his voice trembles, sees as Sarah's gaze returns to his, turns a little pained. "I can't let the CIA turn me into that. I won't ruin what I have with my sister. You know I can't do that."

Her head falls, eyes to the ground once more, and he sees her take a deep breath.  
"I know." If he didn't know her so well, by now, he'd think she wasn't wavering. Wasn't hesitating. But he can tell, somehow, she could be leaning his way, and his reasons, his excuses, flood his mind.

"I can encrypt it," he states, surely. "I can keep her safe, I know I can, you know I can. You just... If you don't want me to do it, I understand, but..." He doesn't even know what he's about to say. 'But... thanks for the nice partnership until now, sorry my neediness ruined it?' 'But... thanks for the most incredible time of my life, now I've made you lose trust in me because of this?

"Chuck," she murmurs, that way only she can, that way that filled his dreams for so very long, still fills them now. She moves one hand to slip it into his, and warmth spreads through his chest despite the cold surroundings, the icy air. Her touch is, as ever, a comfort. "I get it."  
She might not verbalize it, but he can see in her eyes, she's letting him do this.

Letting out of a whoosh of breath, he shakes his head to snap out of his thoughts.  
"Okay. So I'm gonna write this email, and I'm gonna lie even more about what I'm doing and where I am, and I'm gonna make an excuse she'll hate, but she'll think I'm okay, and happy."

"Okay." She nods, then eyes him differently, seeking something. "And are you, okay and happy?"

He looks away from her, looking round again at the snow falling and those nice Christmas lights, at the busy coffee shop on the corner across from them, and he's not so sure. The ache they make him feel, the way they remind him of his family, of what he's missing, the holidays as he'd always known them, that's not a happy thing.  
But then he looks right back to Sarah, sees as she looks up at him again, waiting, questioning, gaze a little worried like she can't tell what he's about to say. There's fallen snow caught in her curls, one stray snowflake clinging to her eyelashes. Her cheeks are pink, her lips too, parted as she waits for an answer.

"Yes." That, at least, is not a lie.

* * *

His fingers are aching by the time he's finished, worn and stiff from typing word after word. When he writes code, he's in his own world, numb to pain and thought and only focused on numbers and commands. When he's actually writing something, with words, like a report or like this email, it wears him down, rapidly.

He sighs, scrolls up to reread it again, finally. It's rambling and apologetic and lengthy and he knows it'll be so little of what Ellie wants, and deserves.

"Are you finished?" Sarah asks from her spot on the couch, legs stretched long out in front of her, crossed at the ankles. She looks strangely at home, he muses, even if the sight of her here is something entirely foreign to his eyes. One of her knives sits on the couch arm by her side, used to slash open the envelope sat in her lap. She's got a file in her hands, whether for the mission they wrapped early yesterday that led to them wandering D.C., or the one they're headed out on tomorrow, he doesn't know, but it wouldn't surprise him either way. Hackers or terrorists or rogue agents or meetings with contacts or dead drops, it really has been one mission right after the other, which has done nothing to lessen Chuck's frustration about lying to Ellie. He hasn't had a moment to think with a clear rational head in months, and he's eternally exhausted, but, like he'd said, happy. Because of Sarah.

Graham approved the tranq gun after LA, thanks to Sarah's insistence. And now, one quick shot, and the target's out like a light. No bullets necessary. Chuck has never felt so at ease on missions since before he'd become a spy at all. Without Sarah, he'd never even have thought of getting this kind of weapon, it's not the way he was trained, not what his supervisors would ever have suggested. Sometimes he still has to get his hands dirty, but if he has to pull out his gun and tranq someone to spare a fist fight, he can.  
Guns, bullets, they'll never sit well with him. Sarah may trust them, know them, much like he knows she trust blades and knives— not just through the ease with which she'd opened the envelope not so long ago. The mission before last she'd managed to throw a knife halfway across a room and land it perfectly on an emergency button they wouldn't have reached in time, and Chuck had been so busy gaping Sarah had had to drag him out of the mansion before they'd been spotted. It was an amazing shot he knows he could never make, even with all the training in the world. That kind of aim is something rare, almost magical. With Sarah Walker, he's not surprised anymore.

But guns, they'll never be his thing, he doesn't think. Something about the feel, the weight of them in his hand, always unnerves him. What it means. What it could do.

With a tranq gun, somehow, that weight eases.

And because of that change, they've been closing the missions quickly, efficiently, they're just that good a team. And it's gotten them a real day off today, not just one of recovery from an injury or mandatory rest after a long mission, or one combined with a briefing or a mission or something else related to the agency, this day is Director-approved as a gift for a job well done. And Chuck had fully planned on spending the whole day writing and drafting this email, alone, by himself.  
That is, until Sarah had shown up on his doorstep at 3pm with an envelope in her hand, and a smile on her lips, somehow having gotten past the intercom buzzer and front door of his building, and also having found his floor and his apartment. He'd just stepped aside to let her in. He likes the company, especially when it's her. Always when it's her.

He might spend most days with her on missions, so his off hours are the only time to get a break, but it's Sarah. He'd spend all the time in the world with her if he had it.

"Yeah," he murmurs, running his hands over his face, blinking a few times until the ache in his eyes from too-long staring at a screen fades. Once upon a time, that feeling had been his normal, after far too long playing video games with a certain bearded friend of his. Now, it's oddly unfamiliar. "God, I don't even know if I'm making any sense here."

"I'm sure it's fine, Chuck."

He frowns at that.  
"It's for Ellie. She can spot a crappy excuse a mile off, I don't know why I thought pretending I have to work Christmas _and_ New Years was ever gonna fly with her."

"But you do have to work Christmas and New Year." Sarah says, almost matter-of-factly, and he sends her a flat look. Her face crumples apologetically, but he shrugs before she can speak again.

"Not doing the work she thinks I'm doing."  
And perhaps that's at the crux of all this. Would his sister be proud, if she did know? Would she understand his lies, his deceptions? Would she hate the danger he places himself in, time after time?

Sarah sighs.  
"I-"

"I know, I know." He waves a hand as he turns back to the screen. They've had this conversation before, earlier today, in fact, when she'd first shown up, and he's getting a little bit of deja vu.

If Graham found out Chuck was doing this, if anyone found out but Sarah, he'd be in the biggest mess, he knows. Spies don't have feelings, spies don't have attachments, spies don't. have. families. Except Chuck does. It might make him a crappy spy, but it's a fact of life, and with his past he'd always known that giving up everyone he loved was never something he can do. He just needs this, them, now. He needs to let Ellie know he's okay. Needs to apologize a thousand times over. And Sarah understands that.

That his partner is here now, even after expressing her uncertainty yesterday, even after warning him, is just far more than Chuck had expected or knows he deserves. Sarah could get in trouble for even knowing about this email, even encrypted and on a private server as it'll be just like he'd said, but she's just going along with it like no other partner would. He's not sure what he did in a prior life or something to deserve having her in this one, but he's glad for it. Oh, infinitely glad.

Five minutes later, when he's scrolled to the bottom and fixed every typo and added in more apologies for not keeping in touch and scrolled back up to the top again to go through it once more, she clears her throat.  
"Do you... want me to read it?" she asks, voice just a soft murmur, and Chuck blinks.

He should say no to her. He knows she'd be fine with that, knows she wouldn't mind if he refused. And he should definitely avoid letting her see the many many mentions of herself in the email—in fact, he thinks, he should probably cut those bits out. But he wants to give Ellie something _real_ amongst these lies and excuses, and what's more real than Sarah, really?  
Plus, he'd started to write about her and it had just been so easy, just spilled out into his hands and onto the keyboard. Words all about the woman he spends oh so much time with, the person he's always more and more glad he knows. His awkward apologies, the fabricated tales, they'd stuck in his mind, struggled to be typed out. With Sarah, there had been words flowing out to share with Ellie like they always used to do. Like he misses so badly.

Sure, he'd lied a little still, said that it turned out the Sarah he met in LA also works in DC, and that now the two of them are just good friends and they hang out a lot, but it's the closest thing to the truth in the whole email.

But, he nods anyway, without thinking it over more, because he needs Sarah's fresh pair of eyes, and frankly, does want to make sure she's okay with what he's written, and so he pushes his feet off the floor, wheeling his computer chair to the side as Sarah slips off the couch. She pulls up one of the nice chairs that came furnished with the apartment, all soft and plushy and a deep red, and never even used by him, and curls her feet up beneath her as she reaches for the mouse and starts to read.

His palms are sweating by the time she's read the first paragraph, his breath is short by the second, and god, he can't even look at her when she's at the end, letting go of the mouse and letting silence fall.

"You wrote about me." she says, finally, but her voice is quiet and strained and- oh god she hates it, of course she hates it, god why did he think this was a good idea at all?

He wheels himself back, tries to grasp for the laptop but she's in the way still, just sitting, unmoving.  
"I'll delete it, I promise, I-"

"No, no it's okay," She raises a hand, stops him moving her, though she still sounds a little dazed. "I... I didn't know you were going to write about me, that's all."

"Oh." He frowns, pauses. That's different, at least he thinks it is. "Well, I wanted to tell Ellie something about what I'm doing, and y'know, you're my partner, so... I don't know, I guess it just made sense to me."  
Licking his lips, he eyes her, still uncertain over whether she's really good with this or not. He doesn't mind rambling about his own life to Ellie, even in lies, but sharing so much about Sarah, to a woman who's a virtual stranger to her, including her in that risk of what could happen if anyone were to intercept this email knowing Chuck's a spy… That's a lot for someone to give up, for Sarah to give up, just to set him at ease.

But before his very eyes, she smiles. Soft.  
"It's okay, Chuck, really. I don't mind." For the hundredth time, he wonders what he did to deserve her. "But, I've got to ask, what did you mean by, um, here? 'Don't think that'—what did that mean?" she says, pointing to the screen. He doesn't have to follow her hand to know exactly what she means.

The words are right after the first sentence mentioning Sarah, interrupting the flow before Chuck keeps going in his descriptions, a warning to his sister to not jump to the conclusion she's definitely going to jump to. Admittedly, he's glad Sarah's chosen to point that part out and not reference the section where he'd actually had to awkwardly explain to Ellie that this Sarah is the same Sarah he'd met on vacation, because of course, she'd been there when Ellie had called, had woken midway through the call or maybe she'd been awake since he had, spy senses and all. But it's a harsh reminder of that time they spent together, the time he's only just starting to get over sometimes, move on from. And even hinting at it to Ellie had felt super awkward, and far too much like the truth. But this is still kinda awkward to mention, and he forces a smirk as he cuts off his thoughts.

"Sometimes I forget you've never even met El. But, trust me, the minute she reads I'm still friends with the Sarah I told her about a couple months ago, she's gonna start going crazy, even though I've said we're just friends. No matter how much she hates me for missing the holidays."  
He's going to have to miss most all holidays now, of course, and it'll only get harder, he's sure.

Sarah's hand is on his shoulder suddenly, squeezing gently, and he looks up to see her smiling softly, yet again. It warms him, makes an irrepressible ease spread through his limbs, and he smiles back in return.  
"She won't hate you. You're right, I don't know her, but I know _you_ , and I think it's... pretty impossible for anyone to hate you."

He quirks his lips if only to stop them from spreading into a giant grin. Because he's learnt he can't help but want to grin whenever Sarah so much as looks at him let alone compliments him like that.

"I don't know," he says, falling back on a joke to change the subject. Before it all gets a little heady. "I think McKenzie pretty much hates me."

Sarah shrugs, clearly thinking back to the moment their perp, the leader of the group they'd taken down, had cursed very loudly at him early yesterday morning before falling backwards into the gutter.  
"You tranqed her, it's understandable." She narrows her eyes teasingly, and he chuckles then, the anxiety over Sarah having read the email just about gone, the fear over Ellie slowly ebbing away too, though not entirely. Sarah's cheeky expression fades, and she eyes him again. "I know you made parts up about us, but do you really think we're friends, Chuck?" Her tone is kind despite her words.

His eyebrows knit into a frown even though he completely understands where she's coming from, really. The moment he'd seen her in Graham's office, he would've guaranteed they would never get anywhere near friends, let alone be successful partners, and good company, and be sharing moments like this in his apartment right now. They're a little bit impossible.  
He also knows she's asking because he'd sort of really emphasized their friendship to Ellie to stop her going crazy over his still being in touch with Sarah, another thing to stop her jumping to that conclusion. But there's still a doubt in him that maybe Sarah had read that and thought it was too much, too insistent, too weird. Or that maybe, just maybe, deep down she wants them to be more, just like he does.

"Yeah. Do you not?"

Though he keeps his voice light, intentionally so, Sarah looks a little alarmed.  
"No, I- I do, but... Spies don't have friends, Agent Carmichael," Her tone again betrays the potentially hurtful words she's saying, playful and upbeat, and the poke to the shoulder she gives him reassures him even more. She sounds weird saying his name like that, his cover, the one he rarely if ever uses even on missions. He still just feels like good old Chuck Bartowski when he's with her, so much so that he often forgets that's not meant to be his name anymore.

"I guess we're just really bad spies, then." he says, with a grin, and she smirks before pulling away.

"Well, _you_ might be, me-"

"Oh, that's hurtful, Sarah, you wound me." He clutches at his chest, fakes a pained expression, which is tough, because she's grinning at him and he just wants to return it. He breaks, falling into a laugh. "God, you and Ellie would get along so well."

He's not sure why he says it, but he does, and as soon as the words leave his mouth he knows them to be the complete and utter truth. And he suddenly wishes, more than anything, really, that the most important woman in his life could meet the second most. Maybe Ellie wouldn't even be offended to find out _she's_ the second, now.

Sarah smiles at him, a little shy, the expression out of place as it replaces her usual confidence. Or her usual mask of confidence, at least. She weathers a stray thread on the seam of the chair, occupying her hands.  
"You think so?"

He keeps his expression neutral as he watches her, takes her in. He doesn't know much about Sarah, really, other than garnered scraps of information like the Rocky Road last month, when she was recruited, and what she'd said in the club, but he's pretty sure he's one of her only friends. She has the CAT Squad, but after the way she'd talked about them in London, he's pretty sure the tensions between them allow for little more than a couple nights out with plenty of alcohol. And from what he's gathered, she hadn't been with her other partners before him long enough to get to know them, let alone become a friend. The only spy she seems to know is Graham, and he's, well, Graham. Their boss.

So maybe it's just him, just her nerdy idiot of a partner. He'd like if she could count Ellie as a friend someday, too, somehow. It would be impossible, but he'd like it.

Realizing how long his pause has taken, he shrugs.  
"Oh, yeah. You'd have a common interest in making fun of me. Awesome would probably join in too just for the sake of it." He sighs as the happy idea fades, replaced by a reality where he's still a spy, and she's still a spy, and he doesn't know when he'll next get to see his family, let alone if Sarah could ever meet them. Would ever want to. It saddens him that he can't even hope for it. "For now, I guess this is the best it's gonna get. Crappy Christmas present to send, huh?"

She smiles a little sadly, then turns back to the computer screen, her expression fading a little as she evidently thinks. When she jumps suddenly, he knows she's had some kind of thought.

"Have you got a camera?" she asks, and he can't fight the stunned expression that slips onto his face. He has no idea where she's going with this.

"Uh, sure. Not a CIA issue one, I'm guessing?"

If looks could speak, hers would very much be saying, duh. He heads into his bedroom still confused, pulling open the wardrobe he hardly uses because honestly, what kind of spy unpacks, there's just no point. The closet just has some of his fancier suits hanging in the weird plastic dry cleaning bags, and the mess of jeans and printed t-shirts he only wears on his off days, like today. He rifles around in the boxes at the bottom, most of which hold shoes, but he knows one contains the tiny digital camera he hasn't used since he moved in. The box is dusty, to such a point it's almost a cliché, and he brushes it off before tugging the cardboard open and grabbing the camera by the string.

"Found it," he yells, stepping back out into his living room-slash-kitchen area. Sarah's standing, fluffing up her hair and using his window as a mirror, and when she turns to him with a smile he can't help but be impressed at just how great a spy she is. She always looks incredible, but she's gone from day-off-casual to camera-ready in ten seconds flat, eyes bright, hair neat, lips just a little shinier than before, somehow. "So you still look like a model and I am still a slob, what's the camera for exactly?"

She flushes a little, which he thinks is due to his compliment, but hey, it's the truth.  
"You can encrypt photographs, right? We should send Ellie one, as a Christmas present."

He notes she didn't protest his slob comment which means it really must be true too, but he's far more interested in the we part of her sentence, _we_ should send Ellie a picture, like they're a pair, a... couple. Sorta.

He's also left utterly reeling from her words. An email giving some information about her was a big deal. _This_ , a photograph, of them, documented and sent across the ether? That's, god, that's something else entirely. That's a lot to give up, just for his sake. His family's sake. If her trust in him to write this was more than he deserved, which it was, he can't even quantify this.  
He swallows, sees how she raises an eyebrow.

"Uh, yeah, I can." he says, though she didn't really ask much of a question, just wanted to confirm what she already knew, and he's about to ask what she's talking about because he's still pretty lost in every thought, when Sarah reaches out and ruffles his hair a little and he completely forgets whatever he was about to say. Her touch sends a spark through him, the sensation burning and leaving his skin in goosebumps, but she mustn't notice because she just keeps smiling and messing with his hair, or, he hopes, fixing it. It reminds him a little of that time on the jet back from Barcelona, except this time he's awake, and she knows it, and she's still just letting it happen. She tugs his t-shirt down, straightens it out, though he hadn't even realized it was rumpled in the first place, and then sends him a smile that makes him smile right back, dazed.

"C'mon." she says, nudging his shoulder and then turning round to face the light, letting the window be the backdrop. "This way... we can send Ellie something real."

His heart flutters a little at that, at that damn _we_ again, at Sarah knowing how much this is affecting him, at her knowing just what he wants Ellie to have. But he has to protest, he must.  
"Sarah, this is too much, you know that."

She frowns.  
"What is?"

"This." He raises the camera. "I—I mean it's a nice suggestion, but Ellie doesn't need it, it's too risky. I don't wanna risk you this way just because I'm feeling sorry for myself."

Her eyes narrow as she steps into him, folds her arms.  
"Chuck, it was my idea." He nods. "Do you think I would suggest something I wouldn't want to do?"

"I don't know," he says, realizing that's entirely honest. Sometimes he truly doesn't know where they stand, and frankly, this has blindsided him. He doesn't know her goal, here, her reasoning. And if it's just because he was being mopey, he doesn't want to do it. Daren't risk it. Risk Sarah. She's too important to endanger over something so ridiculous as his emotions. His emotions don't matter.  
And that, Chuck muses, is the most CIA thing he's ever thought.

"Well, I want to."  
Her tone is firm, decided, and yet again he just blinks.

"Okay."

"Do you?"

"Yeah." he breathes, pulse racing a little at her insistence. God, she wants this, she really does, for whatever reason. This wonderful, amazing woman, wants to do something so risky, and yet so mundane, all for him, and his family. His words aren't a lie; he can't deny he wants this too. It really is a nice suggestion. And all he's ever wanted out of this whole thing, is to send Ellie something real. A real apology for missing a real holiday. And of course, Sarah's known that all along.  
Sometimes he thinks he knows her. And often, he remembers she'll always know him better.

She nods, flashes him a beaming smile. If it's meant to make his stomach flip, which it quite probably is, it works.  
"Okay." With that, she tugs on his hand, and he doesn't speak, just hands her the camera, feeling dumbfounded, and turns around too. She fiddles with it a moment before raising it up. He's only just managed to snap out of it when the realization over quite what they're doing dawns, and Sarah steps into his side. Her warmth presses up against him, and she clears her throat before she looks at him, eyes warm. "Smile, Chuck,"

At just the sight of her, that stunned knowledge still in his head, he suddenly finds he can do just that, and she snaps away.

They take a couple, mainly because he's sure he keeps blinking and when he asks for another one it makes Sarah laugh, and the remaining awkward air fades at just that sound, so he keeps doing it, and she keeps laughing, and they beam at the lens over and over, dissolving into giggles. Chuck suddenly feels so _normal_ it's astounding. He's taking some photographs, with his friend or someone sorta very much more, to send to his sister in a Christmas update email. It feels like that's what normal people do. Normal couples, maybe.  
But they're not together, they're not a couple, and, as much as he may wish it, they're not normal. He chose this.

"Pizza?" Sarah asks, once they're finally done, tone light like nothing was just strange at all. It all seemed to dissipate during their laughter, somehow. Her smile. She hands the camera back to him, and when Chuck glances at his watch he realizes it's almost 8pm. They fly out to Thailand late tomorrow afternoon, so at least there's no need to rush.

He jerks his head in the direction of the kitchen.  
"Menu's on the counter. Order what you like, I'm not picky."

"Yes, you are." she says, smirking again but sauntering away. It's true, he is kinda picky, even if Sarah's the awkward one when it comes to pizza. Thankfully he's sure his local place a few blocks away does vegetarian with no olives.

He shakes his head as he turns back to the computer, hooking the camera up and flicking through the photographs.  
He was right, he is blinking in a few, and the first one has Sarah's thumb poking up at the bottom of the screen all pink and blurry, and one is a little fuzzy from a shaky hand, in another he wasn't quite ready, but oh the last two are just... perfect.

In the first, they're both smiling at the camera, both a little flushed with giant grins because they'd been laughing a fair while by this point after constant tries. In the second, Sarah's still grinning at the lens, leaning into him, but he's turned his head and he's looking at her, and god, if that's how he looks at her all the time he wonders how the hell he's made it this far as a spy. He was wrong, yesterday, thinking he could mask his emotions. Because here, he knows anyone would be able to see the emotion and adoration for his partner all over his face. Ellie won't need to jump to crazy conclusions about his 'just friend' Sarah, she'll be able to see how he feels plain and simple.  
But still, looking at it right now makes him smile too. Because Sarah's beautiful and oh, he does admire her, does adore her, does have feelings for her he can't even process right now. Or shouldn't even process right now. He's not sure which of those is the reason he's holding back, because either way he knows very much that those feelings are there.

Hearing her just beginning the order on the phone, he quickly attaches the two pictures to the bottom of his email, encrypts the whole thing and the images, and sends it without a second glance, safely on its way to Ellie without a moment to doubt himself. He won't be able to check if she's replied until at least after this next mission, and with it set to be a long one, by then it could be past Christmas, and maybe past New Years, let alone what it could be if they get another mission right away, but he has to tell himself, he signed up for this. Has to remind himself the only reason he hasn't broken yet is because he's got Sarah with him almost every day.

She's still turned away in the kitchen, poking at his never-used utensils and talking to the pizza place, and so he quickly prints off a small copy of that second picture. She can probably hear him and the groaning of the printer, and she could easily turn around, but he doesn't particularly care, not really. If she asked, maybe he'd make some excuse, maybe he wouldn't, or maybe she'd love the picture just as much as he does. Maybe she'd work out just how much she means to him.

When the page has printed, little photograph in the corner clear as day and still showing that expression on his face pretty obviously, Sarah's still turned the other way, and he slips away into his bedroom. He tosses the paper on top of his suitcase; he'll cut out the picture later and tape it to his others, folded up safely and securely inside his wallet and then inside his suitcase, a constant reminder.  
Except this constant reminder, he gets to work with, be with, all the time.

"Hey," he says, when he emerges once again. She's hung up now, tossing her phone between her hands and leaning on the counter, and she smiles when she sees him.

"Hey, the pizza's on its way. Did you send the email?"

She must know he did, because the screen is just blank now, just his empty inbox for the email account he set up solely to send that off to Ellie, and a lonely blinking cursor. The tab with the photographs is minimized, though, and Chuck can't quite remember if he did that or not.

He nods.  
"Just gotta delete those pictures, and it'll be like it never happened."

Her face falls, shutters, mask in place.  
"Do you need to?"

Something about her tone makes him frown.  
Maybe he worded that weirdly, or maybe she just doesn't want him to delete them, though he's not sure why. Does she want her own copy of one, or...? He steps closer, heading round behind the counter to stand right in front of her.

"What?"

She shifts, folds her arms, looking suddenly uncomfortable before she clears her throat.  
"The camera just sits here in your closet, right? Do you have to delete them?"

"Well, yeah it does, but... I thought, protocol and all, it would be dangerous having any pictures of the two of us here. Taking them to send to Ellie was bad enough, but keeping them…"  
Yet again, he just knows, he can't be the one to risk Sarah, he could never do that. And it truly would be dangerous. If either one of them gets taken and their captor finds that picture, that's finite proof they know each other, finite proof of Chuck's feelings, at least, that they could very much exploit. Not that it would take much more for him to do anything for Sarah since he's 98% sure he's at that stage already, right now, but that's besides the point. Worse, if in the future their partnership splits up (though Chuck doesn't really want to fathom that right now), that's a permanent link between the two of them that should never be. A permanent problem, a permanent risk.

The photographs just shouldn't exist. And yet again, that's such a ridiculously CIA thing to think, he has to hold back a laugh.  
He doesn't know became the protocol-following half of the partnership and Sarah the one who wants to bend the rules, but it's apparently happened, and that's just... strange. But kinda nice, he supposes, like they've taught the other something of their methods.

She raises a shoulder a little sadly, he thinks, and he's suddenly mad at himself for making that sadness happen in some way. God, he's a bad partner sometimes.  
"You're right, you should delete them-"

He reaches out instinctively as she moves away, curling his fingers round her wrist. Her expression makes every single doubt dissipate, and he almost smirks at that. Yeah, he's not quite an expert spy yet.  
"No. No, you're right. They're good."

"I know." Sarah murmurs, with a grin. She slips her hand back, moving his grip from her wrist until her palm rests comfortably against his. She looked at the photographs then, of course, somehow, hanging up and getting to the computer and back in the brief moment he was gone. She's an incredible spy, after all. "They are. I like them."

He sends her a smile and waits the beat for her to return it, which she does, letting it slide over her lips all slow, then he regrettably pulls his hand from hers to get himself under control, slips past her, and heads to the fridge. The sadness that had briefly appeared in her frame is gone, he notes, sneaking a glance at her as he pulls open the refrigerator door. It's been replaced with an ease, a happiness, and when he catches a glimpse of her face he thinks she even looks a little surprised.

She knows he printed off that picture, probably, and if she knows that she'll definitely know why, it's not a hard conclusion to come to. She's been added to his little wall of greats, his little family, which she already knows means so much to him, and she's amongst that too now. No matter where they stand or what he feels for her, no matter how strong those feelings may be (and now, stealing glances at her in his kitchen, they're very strong), no matter all that, she's part of that little family for good now. Finding her in that club that night was the greatest thing to happen to him, ever. Of that, he's positive.

And he thinks she knows what he feels for her, hopes that, at least. Because the idea of her not knowing how much she means to him is just weird, really.

"You want a beer? It's about all I got here."

She nods, and he pulls two bottles from the bare shelf, twisting the caps off and handing one to her before scooping up his own.

"She'll be okay with it, Chuck," she says, after a beat. "She'll understand."

How she knows he's still not comfortable with lying to Ellie, still not okay, he doesn't know, but Sarah likes to surprise him like that, he supposes. Intuition like that is what makes her such an amazing partner.

"I hope so."

They clink beers, and just as he's about to take a sip, she reaches out and takes his free hand in hers again, fingers wrapping tight round his and squeezing momentarily. He sends her a smile he's sure after seeing that picture today conveys all his feelings pretty clearly, then takes a drink.  
It's just up to her to notice those feelings or not, he guesses, because things are seeming clearer and clearer to Chuck day by day.

They stand in silence for a moment, and then he looks up and his eyes meet hers and he just has to say something, has to thank her, has to let her know just even the tiniest bit, anything, of what he feels. Her gaze is wide, open, understanding, and he senses something that he's only ever felt with her, that she knows him from just a look. But this time, a look doesn't seem enough. He needs to tell her. Because the fact that she's still here, her hand still in his and a smile sent his way, is far more than he deserves. He's been a wreck over this email, fought with her, argued with her, done his own thing even though she'd asked him not to, and what has she done? Let him do it, stood right by him, given him company like she knew he was stressing out about it, taken a photograph of the two of them for his sister despite the risk involved, all because she knew he wanted to give Ellie something real.

She's amazing. She's Sarah Walker.

He takes a little step forward, looking down at her but that height of hers meaning she's not too far away at all, and tightens his hand in her own.

"I'm sorry I've been such a crappy partner over this. You've been... you've been here the whole time when I gave you no reason to want to be, but I wouldn't have been able to finish that without you. Thank you." His voice is just a murmur.

She steps closer still.  
"You're welcome. And you haven't been too bad, I promise." She pokes her tongue between her teeth when she grins at him and his heart trips over itself as his gaze flicks down to her mouth.

Things are bubbling up in his mind, things he wants to tell her, let her know, things so she knows she means the world to him, and with her looking at him like that, he wonders if she just might be ready to hear them. He can feel her moving closer, sense her leaning in, and when he darts his gaze back to her eyes they're just firmly locked on his lips, so he looks back down at hers in kind, feeling that urge to say something just grow and grow. He clears his throat.

"Sarah, I-"

The intercom buzzer rings. He smiles bitterly, wry and frustrated, and she's not so great at hiding her own disappointment, face falling a little and eyes closing in exasperation. He steps away, because the food will go cold but also because her disappointment implies she wanted him to act on what he was about to say, and that's a little too much for him to process.

He clears his throat, nods.  
"...will go get the pizza. I'll be right back."

He knows that's the end of it for now, can tell, it would just be weird to keep going with that when time's passed and the moment's gone, but instead when he steps past her he gives into the not so little urge to kiss her, pressing his lips against her cheek. Her hair brushes his nose and he can't remember a time he was this close that wasn't their first meeting, those wonderful all of twelve hours.  
Moving back from her in full, feeling the warmth of her slip away, he heads forward to the door to grab his jacket and look for his every day not-suitcase wallet, muttering something or other he doesn't really process through the intercom to the pizza guy who has the world's worst timing.

When he comes back minutes later, hot cardboard pizza box in his hand, Sarah's still standing in the same place, her beer warming on the counter and apparently untouched in his absence, and a stunned little smile is spread on her lips, aimed, squarely, at him.

He serves up the pizza in comfortable silence, finding plates and moving the box and their beers over to the couch, sneaking glances at his partner as he does so. She's still smiling, biting her lip as if to keep it suppressed, and her cheeks are a little pink, a little flushed. She looks beautiful.  
His stomach pitches in warning, his heart racing just a little. Those feelings are rearing their head again and he can just tell, somehow, that they won't go away this time. Won't fade into an ache in the distance he can pretend isn't there. This, this he can't ignore. This he'll have to face.

And it's then, right then, that he knows he's in deep trouble.

* * *

 **a/n 2:** And that's that, five more to go! Next time, we're back into the missions, some of my favourite tropes from the show appear, and it's getting a lot harder to keep these two apart… See you in a week, and once more, please review and let me know your thoughts!


	6. Guayaquil

**summary:** On his last night home in LA before becoming a field agent, Chuck finds himself begrudgingly dragged to a nightclub, all thanks to Morgan. But what he meets there, or rather, who he meets there, is about to change his life, and his future spy career, in ways he can't possibly imagine. Partnered up, Chuck and Sarah have to navigate the spy life, missions, their memories of that fateful night, and a whole lot of feelings. AU.

 **a/n:** I feel like I keep saying it, but seriously, you guys rock. Your favourites and follows and reviews are so great and kind and awesome, I never dreamed this fic would get the reaction it's getting. Last chapter in particular, I wasn't sure if it was any good, but you were all so lovely in your responses, you're just, you're all the best. The collective best.  
And with that, onwards! This was actually the last chapter I wrote for this fic, I finished the whole thing and realized there was something missing before we really got into the meat of the second half. And, I realized I'd missed a big chance to put in one of my favourite fic tropes. So this was born! And honestly, it's probably my favourite chapter of the fic, at least so far. Those just wanting me to smush Chuck and Sarah together and be done with it, we're not there yet, but I hope you'll enjoy this. Really enjoy it. Heh. As ever, if you like it, please leave a review and let me know! I love reading 'em!  
 **summary:** I don't own Chuck, whitewashed houses, clubs, or lipstick smudges.

* * *

 **january**

The knock on his apartment door sounds out early afternoon, and as he looks up from his mug of coffee he suppresses a smile at the somehow familiar noise. He knows who it is, just from the rhythm, the weight of it.  
It's only the third time she's been here, last month's deal with the email and then a day sharing coffee and lunch and discussing their next mission in Berlin the other week, but she seems to be making it a habit, already. He likes that.

Heading over to the door, he runs a hand through his hair in some kind of attempt to tame it. He knows he looks like a mess, but they only got back from Germany the other day and he's sure Sarah will overlook his relaxed day-off appearance, rumpled nerd t-shirt and fraying jeans and all. Days like this, he looks less like a spy and more like the regular video game loving nerdy guy he could've been, used to be, and really he still is, at heart. That part of him will never leave entirely, he's sure.

Pulling open the door, he finds Sarah leaning on the jamb, arms folded, an eyebrow raised his way, and he suppresses the urge to sigh what would probably be a little dreamily. She, of course, looks perfect. Her red winter coat is pulled tight round her, thick boots are on her feet, and her hair is in those loose curls he's really coming to love. There are melting snowflakes on her shoulders. He wonders if she'll ever stop leaving him breathless. He doubts it. He hopes not.

Grinning at her, he folds his own arms, mimics her stance.  
"Y'know, someday, you're really gonna have to let me know how you get past the doorman and up here each time without anyone stopping you."

She sends him an unimpressed look and snorts just a little, and he can't help but feel a happy warmth at teasing her, at making her laugh, even as she narrows her eyes a little cheekily.  
"I'm a spy, Chuck,"

"Don't I know it," he murmurs, stepping back from the threshold and walking through his apartment again. Inviting her in, without asking to. He knows he doesn't need to. "Coffee?"

"Mhm, please."

He hears the door click shut as he reaches the kitchen, and focuses on rooting around to find the mug he gave her last time, trying very hard not to eye her. But he's struck, as he has been each time she's been here, by the ease with which she slips off her shoes, hangs her coat up next to his, acts like this is normal, every day. It's wordless and effortless, like it's just something she does naturally, and it makes his heart flutter just a little. Though it's felt so easy for months now, the reality of this partnership, this reliance on another person so much, on Sarah so much for that matter, that reality is becoming increasingly increasingly aware to Chuck, and after almost slipping up in this very room before the Thailand mission a couple weeks back, when oh, he'd been so close to kissing her, to telling her how she makes him feel, well, now he's trying very hard to ignore that reality.  
But, he muses, as he adds some creamer to her coffee, he'd never even used more than one mug here before she came over. Hard to ignore _that_ reality when it's burning ceramic in his hands.

When he turns back around, she's already curled up on the couch, feet pulled up beneath her and her head propped up on her hand to watch him, and he returns her quiet smile instinctively.

"So what's up?" he asks, handing her her drink and sitting down by her side. A close distance to her, but not too close. Not so close he'd be tempted to lean in.

She shrugs, pulls a face.  
"Not much, I was just..."

"Bored?" he supplies, and she laughs, a quiet giggle that makes his stomach flip. "Yeah, I know how you feel, I've basically been falling asleep all day with nothing to do. Days off are supposed to be fun, but they're just sorta boring when you're a spy, I think."

She takes a sip of the coffee, and he watches the slow smile that slips onto her lips before she speaks.  
"Yeah, they are. I-I wanted to ask you, are you ready for Ecuador?"

The change of topic, to their next mission, makes him frown, and he scratches his cheek.  
"No less ready than I was yesterday when we got the assignment," And they'd discussed it in pretty great depth, then, there shouldn't be anything more to talk about. He's prepared, he knows what they have to do, and so does Sarah. "But, uh, that's almost two days away. You came here to check if I was ready for a mission that's in two days?"

He'd be affronted at her insinuation that he's not ready for it, or not qualified, if he didn't know that's not actually why she's here. No, there's something in her voice, something in her eyes, that tells him something is weighing on her mind.

She worries her lip between her teeth a few moments, then sighs deeply. That glint stays in her gaze, concerning him.  
"I-"

"Sarah." He reaches out, curls his fingers round hers, can't help it, really, and tugs on her wrist a little until she looks up at him, and he sees the look of a little guilt and sadness that fills her features. "Seriously, what's up?"

"Are you okay?" she asks, voice a little insistent.

Yet again, he frowns.  
"I'm asking what's up with _you_ -"

"No, Chuck, I..." Her fingers slip properly round his as she sets her mug down, shuffles closer to him on the couch. "You still haven't heard from Ellie?"

Oh. There it is.  
Despite his excitement, his haste, the pictures he'd taken with Sarah and sent to his sister, he still hasn't heard back. It's nearing a month, they're well into January now, and though the Thailand mission had run past New Years he hadn't been too sad because he'd figured the moment he got back to his apartment he'd have a message in his inbox, sent from his sister. But there'd been nothing. Another mission down, another week passed, and another assignment due to start soon, and he's still waiting. He's not sure what's taking his sister so long, but he feels increasingly like she can't forgive him for his virtual lack of contact since the summer. That's the only reason he can truly think of, and believe. Or, he sort of believes it. He knows the wait would've hurt Ellie, but if there's one thing his sister is, it's kind. Forgiving. She's not the type of person to bear grudges, she just wants to help. Hell, she's a doctor, after all. But Chuck can't work out what else would make her wait so long to reply, what other reason she'd have.

He shakes his head, taking another sip of coffee as a distraction, but Sarah's features crumple into sadness and sympathy, and when her hand reaches up to his drink to take it, he doesn't protest. She places it next to her cup on the coffee table, and her other fingers soon curl round his and her own, both hands clutching one of his.

"I'm sorry. You'll hear from her soon, Chuck, I promise."

"You said that last week," he murmurs, sending his partner a wry smile, and he sees her eyes flare in acknowledgement, but instead of losing himself in her gaze, he clears his throat, leans back a little, fakes a chuckle. "God, listen to me. I swear you spend half your time protecting me and half your time making sure I feel okay. I bet that wasn't at the top of your list of goals for being a spy, huh?"

He expects her to go along with it, take his out, take his avoidance of that close quiet intimacy only they share, but as she lets go of his hand, she seems saddened. Frustrated.  
"I wouldn't want this job any other way. You know that."

Even though her words send his pulse racing, so intense as they are, her tone is a little annoyed, and he sighs, looking down at his lap. He tugs on one of the frayed strings on his jeans, focusing on that rather than Sarah.

"And I spend all of my time being a really bad partner to you." He'd said a similar sentiment not so long ago, sending that very email, but he can't help but believe it sometimes. Sarah's amazing, she's got his back time and again, and often, Chuck still feels he's just a burden. He never thinks he thanks her enough for being by his side.

"You'd be surprised," she says quietly, without hesitation, and he looks up to see her just sending him a small sad smile. Once more, though, there's a look in her eyes, something he can't identify, something warm and promising, and he finds himself reaching out to her despite himself, the urge to touch her just so strong he can't stop it today.

His hand cups round her cheek on instinct, feeling her soft skin against his palm, the warmth of her touch, and those memories he tries so hard to suppress of those wonderful hours they spent together, resurface, so familiarly. He'd cupped her cheek just like this to pull her in for so many a kiss. Today, he simply looks at her, somewhat disbelieving that he's here with her at all, that he's so lucky, and then he has to pull back. Again. He always has to pull back, reel it in.  
At the lazy way her eyes slip shut, though, and her sharp intake of breath as his thumb, unruly, sweeps up and down her skin oh so briefly before letting go, he thinks it might be as difficult a task for her as it is for him.

He clears his throat, snaps himself out of her spell, and his fingers are tingling when he returns his hand to his side. It's like a spark, when they touch. It's always a spark with her.

"You got any plans for today?" he asks, a diversion, trying to keep his distance.

"No?" It's more of a question than a reply.

In the back of his mind he remembers he's got some beer in the refrigerator again- his mind had wandered to Sarah when he was in the store and he'd picked up a six-pack with her in mind-, and a new Chinese place just opened up a couple blocks away. It hasn't had the Morgan seal of approval, but hey, it'll do. And just like that, Chuck's leaning back in again with a grin, attempted distance both physical and personal gone, erased, and he just wants to get closer once more. He props his elbow up on the back of the couch, rests his head on his hand.

"Movie?"

She grins, mimics his position.  
"Okay."

* * *

They walk into the hotel room a little after 3pm, the bright midday sun they'd stepped off the plane to fading just a little behind speckled clouds, but it's still a comfy 80 degrees in Guayaquil, if a little rainy at times. Chuck makes a mental note to look out his umbrella.

Sarah slides right past him, tossing the room key onto a table and wheeling her suitcase into the corner of the room.  
"I'll take the couch after the mission tonight." she says, not looking at him, instead tugging open her bag and setting up equipment they'll need for the op, bugs and earwigs and a scanner for this very room which she sets up flashing right away. It should be an easy mission, simple and far enough away from here that they can come back and sleep before flying back to D.C. tomorrow morning, but right now Chuck isn't sure if a grab-and-dash, Barcelona style, wouldn't be a better choice for them.

She roots around a little more before she pulls out what he knows is her makeup bag, and sets it on the dresser. She looks perfect right now, always does, but he knows by tonight, she'll be intentionally stunning, with thick shiny eye makeup and sharp lines on her cheeks, a dark red on her lips. After all, they need to fit in, attract enough attention that their departure won't raise any suspicion, and they've done this enough times for him to know her routine, her style. It works every time.

He racks his brain for the right response, mouth opening and closing, but his brain seems to be a little behind today, and he just shakes his head.  
"That's really not necessary, I-"

"Chuck."  
Her tone ends the not-even-a-debate, and he sighs, watching as she heads into the bathroom and locks the door.

Things have been weird since the other day, at his apartment. Not due to that moment where his control had diminished and he'd reached out to her, cupped her cheek against his better judgment, no, they seem to have gotten over that. What they can't get over, is what happened afterwards.  
That she fell asleep on his shoulder late after the movie they'd watched after they'd eaten dinner, and he dozed off too, and when he'd woken in the hazy lazy early hours he carried her through to his bed, settled her beneath the sheets, ignored the way her hands had seemed to reach out for him as he started to step away. He certainly wasn't about to leave her hunched on the couch, but she looked so peaceful he didn't want to wake her. Plus, he'd only just changed his sheets, gotten a thicker blanket for the winter, so he figured he'd do the polite thing and let her sleep comfortably. The way she'd nestled into his pillow, he thinks she'd been very comfortable indeed. And then he woke up on the couch at 7am to find her happily making coffee, smiling softly at him from the kitchen like this dream-like life was perfectly normal. Like she stayed over often, shared his space, slept curled up on the couch by his side with her head nestled in his neck as credits roll and roll, even though this was the first time that's ever happened with them. Things had been easy, perfect, soft smiles and brushes of their hands, a sleepy glow that lingered until the sun was well and truly risen.

In fact, nothing felt off or weird until she'd left at midday to head back to her own place and pack, and as they'd stood at his apartment door, smiles fading, he'd been almost overwhelmed by the desire to kiss her goodbye. Like they've already done before, a lifetime ago. This time, she'd looked at his lips for a long long moment before turning on her heel and leaving, muttering something about seeing him at the airport, but he knows the thought was in her mind too.  
Yeah, that, they seem to be struggling to move on from.

He wonders absentmindedly if she thinks he overstepped a boundary, perhaps, moving her to his bed the way he did, but that sleepy happiness he'd felt from her for so long yesterday morning seemed to imply very much otherwise. She didn't seem to mind at all. So, apparently, her behavior now, her insistence on the couch where he knows she prefers taking a bed if she can, and his awkwardness, is just a product of the residual domesticity and strangeness that seems to follow them everywhere right now.

It's easy for him to forget sometimes, he knows, that Sarah's been a spy for so much longer than he has. He's almost sure she's never had any one person to lean on like she has him now, she's never had this connection, this personal one-on-one, where he'd had Ellie and Morgan for years, close close friends and family. He's used to relying on someone, being relaxed with them, slipping off his shoes, hanging up his coat. Sarah isn't. And though the domesticity shakes Chuck, even scares him a little, it's because it's him and _Sarah_ being like this, after their joint history, with none of the uncomfortable air or awkwardness they should feel, having to work together after sleeping together. Sarah, though, she might be freaking out because she's this comfortable with _anyone_ , it just happens to be the guy she slept with and now works with.

He clears his throat, trying to keep his mind clear, and off such distracting things as him sleeping with Sarah, and he busies himself by pulling his nice suit jacket out of his suitcase, slipping it on a hanger in the closet to air over the next couple hours. He pulls out his jeans and his button-down too, sets them aside, then digs out the other scraps of potentially necessary surveillance, a mic pin, their glasses with a lipstick camera, just in case.

Tonight's mission is pretty simple: attend a fun party hosted by a 'charitable' group the CIA knows are fueled by bribes and laundered money and a lot of dead people. Chuck and Sarah are to slip away from the dancefloor midway through, find the group's accounts, and hightail it back to this hotel.  
Chuck's already done most of his part already, hacked into the company's database, found their files and their weaknesses to find out more for this night, so it really should be an easy mission. The only problem, he knows, is that he and Sarah are a little off right now, and to slip away they're gonna need to sell their cover, hard. The party will have loud music and flashing lights and lots of space on the dance floor, and he and Sarah need to stand out enough that nobody will bat an eyelid when they scurry off elsewhere. With a whole lot of affection, and probably a heap of dancing involved with that, they should be fine. If they can get through it.

"Hey," he calls, through the bathroom door, hearing running water. Maybe Sarah's in the shower. He stops that train of thought before it can begin, like always. "I'm gonna go for a walk around the city, maybe get something to eat, you hungry?"

"I'm fine," she calls out. "I'll see you later. Be-"

"Back here at 19:00, I know."

With that, he slips out, and tries desperately to get focused for the mission.

Outside, he ambles past a quaint playpark, with bright swings and a jungle gym and a few squeaking spring riders shaped like frogs, then wanders through a mall, busy and bustling, filled with families and chattering students all shopping. He browses the stores and stalls, almost buys a nice bracelet for Sarah, in fact, a silver band with some gems in it, but he stops himself from reaching for it because he's sure if anything could make things between them even more strange today, buying her pretty jewelry would certainly be it. As he passes through a nice little district with whitewashed houses and bright blooming plants on the porches, it starts to rain heavily, and since he'd forgotten his umbrella after all he dives into a sleepy cafe to avoid the shower, ordering a sandwich and a coffee and thanking the señorita who serves it to him, then spends a good deal of time there to shelter from the weather.  
Absolutely none of it helps him stay focused.

Sure, his mind is on the mission, technically, since Sarah's a part of the mission. He's just running it over and over in his head.  
They slip into the party, cover identities probably unnecessary since Chuck doubts they'll be stopped from getting in, a Sarah Walker perk he both loves and loathes. The looks people send her sometimes make his skin crawl. Once in, they have a couple drinks (limit one with alcohol, thanks CIA regulations and general biology), and put on a show. It's simple, easy, it shouldn't be freaking him out. And yet it is.

Because he's damned if putting on that show won't kill him a little.

He knows by now how attracted he is to Sarah- beyond attracted, frankly, really deeply intensely attracted, so much so he can't let it go. Can't forget the taste of her skin that drove him mad, the feel of her pressed up against him. And he thinks, sometimes, that she has the same problems. Because they're a great partnership, a perfect duo, but their history, their first meeting? That can't be erased, can't be undone, and he doesn't want it to be. But he wonders if some day, they might just... snap. Recently, before Thailand, and just the other day in his apartment, oh, it's been a close call.

And though he knows it's best they hold back, best to keep them safe, without distractions, without those pesky feelings their employer hates so much, despite that he's increasingly wondering if it's all worth it. If waiting, always waiting, keeping her at arm's length when he wants her in those very arms, whether it's for the best, anymore.

By the time 19:00 rolls around, he's retraced his steps through the city and found his way back to the hotel, and his thoughts are no clearer. He guesses he just has to take things one mission at a time.

"Oh good, you're back," Sarah murmurs as he re-enters the room, casting a glance over her shoulder before returning her gaze to the mirror hanging by the dresser, brushing at her eyelashes with her mascara. True to Chuck's expectations, his partner is ridiculously stunning, in a tight little black dress that stops mid-thigh, with shining silver-grey eyeshadow speckled over her lids. Even the arch of her brow is more defined, even her curls are a little bit tighter.

He closes the door behind him, pressing those thoughts to the back of his mind for the thousandth time and turning to the closet, pulling out the clothes he'd unearthed earlier before heading through to the bathroom. One mission at a time.

"Yeah, I took a walk, found a nice coffee shop that did really great sandwiches. They kicked me out at closing, though." he calls out from the bathroom with a false smile in his voice, slipping on his nice jeans, not like the old comfy ones he'd travelled in. "What d'you get up to?"

Sarah chuckles, but it's more restrained, polite, than he's come to love, and he frowns as he slips the button-down over his shoulders.  
"I found a movie on TV, I just watched that."

She's lying, he thinks, at least to some degree, as he looks around the room. Her sports bra is crumpled in a little blue heap next to the shower; she worked out. And she must know he'll have seen that, she must know he knows she's lying, or at least not telling him much. Why she's like that at all, he's not sure, but it just cements his knowledge that they can't carry on like this.

"Alright-" he mutters, strolling back through into the main room, partway through rolling up his shirt sleeves. "Sarah, are we okay?"

She looks his way, face falling, and doesn't answer. Her gaze turns hooded, stuck to his chest, and he eyes her as she fumbles with her lipstick, tries to slip the lid back on without looking and fails a good couple times. She's... distracted? He looks down at his chest and sees his shirt is still unbuttoned, hanging open where it sits on his arms, and Chuck starts to wonder what could possibly be so enthralling about his bare chest, but something quiet in his head lets him know it's obvious, and he goes back to finishing turning up his sleeve again in an attempt to stop the flush he can feel blooming on his cheeks.  
She's distracted, by him. It seems her head is just as in the clouds right now as his is, veering into thoughts and territory they have to- or at least try to- avoid. A little amusement, a little self-consciousness, a little pride, and a whole lot of heat, want, all wash over him, all at once.

She shakes her head, seems to snap out of it.  
"Yes." She sighs, setting the lipstick down and heading over to him, looking frustrated, perplexed. "Yes, I'm sorry, I..." She trails off as she comes to stand in front of him, and before he knows it her hand is reaching up, palm pressing against his bare skin, right over his heart. He gulps. "Things have been... weird, since yesterday,"

"Yeah." he murmurs, quieter than he'd intended. But yet again, she's managed to steal his breath. He really shouldn't be surprised, anymore.

"We should probably talk about it." She taps her index finger against him, and he almost jolts at the feeling. It's light, but with her touch, it somehow feels incredibly weighted.

"Yeah." he repeats, in total agreement. They need to talk, need to address yesterday morning, what it meant, why it's making things so stunted, stilted, now. They need to.

But Sarah's hand is still against his bare chest, touch warm, and it's making his head spin a little. And so instead of doing a single thing to start them talking, he just raises his hand to hers, holds it against his chest, his skin, feels the heat pulsing through her. He wonders if she can feel how fast his heart is racing at this touch, since it's right underneath her palm.

"We have a mission." she murmurs, voice rough and caught and hot, and when he breathes out he feels it shudder through him.

He squeezes her fingers.  
"I know."

The air holds, still, waits for them to make a move or catch up, whichever. He can feel his weight shift, feels the urge to lean in surge within him yet again, feels the rising anticipation, waiting just waiting for the snap. And he's just about to do it when she pulls her hand away from him, from under his own, and takes a step back.  
At least one of them has their senses intact.

"We should finish getting ready."

Even as she says it, her hands reach out again, and he smiles as she slowly buttons up his shirt.  
They have a mission.

* * *

They walk up to the club hand-in-hand, passing by the line of people waiting outside, roped off by velvet chains, and head straight up to the bouncer. Chuck wonders idly if Sarah can feel just how sweaty his palm is in hers. It's not nerves for the mission, so much as the usual adrenaline paired with the less usual nerves for what they have to _do_ for the mission. He's not sure if this kind of assignment would've been much easier had they been handed it months ago, when things were less muddy between them, but also more so, or if it would've been much worse.  
She squeezes his fingers as they come to a stop in front of the very very well-built and glaring man at the door, and Chuck forces himself to feel calm. It's nothing they can't handle.

True to Chuck's expectations, the bouncer takes one look at Sarah, sends her a leering grin, and unhooks the chain cutting off the entrance, much to the disgruntled cries of the queuing people. Chuck can't feel too bad for them, though, he's got a mission to accomplish here, and though he's got a lot of money and a very convincing forged invitation in his jacket pocket right now, there just in case anyone needed a little encouragement letting them in, tonight Sarah's done the trick, as much as that makes him feel a little ill.

They head through the fuzzily-lit entrance, round the corner of a black corridor before the music surges loudly, and he tries not to flinch for a variety of reasons.

"Deja vu, huh?" Sarah says, slipping her arm round his waist and leaning into him. Her voice is flirty, and when he turns to her to reply, her face is already close to his, sending a fairly wicked grin his way. Either she's very into the cover already, or this is just how she's gonna be tonight, but he's glad either way.

"Just a little. If we see a shirtless Morgan, abort mission," he calls back with a smirk, and he sees the fire in her eyes as she raises her brows, then leans in even closer. He ignores the fact that they've both just explicitly mentioned the time they make a clear effort to avoid mentioning, though somehow still mention a lot, and they move forward together. Go time.

The hall ends as two double doors swing open, and the sound hits him like a wall, pounding and screeching. They move out onto the floor and the pulsating strobe lights instantly begin to give him a headache like always. He really, really hates clubs.  
Sarah presses her hip against his as they make a beeline for the bar. Well, Chuck thinks, he really hates clubs without Sarah Walker.

Despite all the equipment they'd brought, in the end they only chose their usual earwigs and mics, figuring the blur and haze of the club would only hinder the lipstick camera, and in a club with so little on-site security, scanning for bugs didn't seem very necessary. So, it's up to the both of them to spot every detail, anything important. As Sarah leans over the bar and orders them two cervezas, Chuck surveys the place, doing recon.

There are banners hanging from the ceiling, with the charity's logo stamped brightly on them, fluttering in the artificial breeze from the wind and smoke machines. He sees flyers scattered round on the bar, too, with the same logo as the banners, some little business cards and a few cheap lanyards as well. He scans the room, eyeing the many couples grinding up against each other, the tipsy patrons, and subtly looks right across the floor. In the shadows, there's a roped-off section with clearer crystal lighting which he figures is a very fancy looking VIP area, since he sees the charity's husband and wife CEOs sitting with some partygoers and another bunch of people who, yup, Chuck can just make out are packing a fair arsenal under their jackets. He can recognize a couple of them as higher-ups in the charity, from the personnel logs he'd gotten a look at when he'd hacked into the company's database the other day.

"Hey," Sarah says, tapping on his shoulder, and he spins round to see her holding two ice cold beers with wedges of lime jammed into the necks. She smiles his way.

"Oh, my savior," he jokes, and she laughs before stepping closer to him, backing him away from the bar to let more people swarm in, and pressing her chest against his. He slips his arm round her waist and holds her there, moving naturally with her as she begins to sway to the music. She's warm and soft and grinning up at him, and he downs half of his beer in one gulp.

"The Royles are sat at your six o'clock with bad guys and bodyguards," he says, barely moving his lips, voice low. With that, he leans down, pretends to whisper something flirtatious in Sarah's ear, and he hears and feels her fake throaty laugh rather than sees it. Though it's shallow and breathier, it still sounds a little like the very noises he'd heard coming from her before, those months ago, and his eyes slip shut as he tries to control himself.

"There's only one camera here, it's got a low radius. There's a door marked _Empleados_ in its blindspot for ten seconds with a twenty second gap. The offices should be through there, if the intel was good." she murmurs back, fast, and he tightens his grip on her, turns his head even more as he pretends to brush a kiss to her skin. He can remember exactly what she'd taste like, from when he'd done just that.

She takes his cue, though, throws her head back and half moans half laughs, the sound caught and high-pitched, and she rests her hand against his chest and sways a little more before pulling back.  
"Let's dance!" She sets her drink down following her loud proclamation that garners them a few looks, and he follows suit, only just placing his almost empty beer back on the bar before she tugs hard on his arm and they stumble into the mass of groups and couples.

He's never really danced with Sarah before, unless you count a certain tango metaphor in which case yes, he'd danced with her quite a few times last summer, but he's certainly never done this kind of dancing. The close hot swaying grinding bopping kind of dancing, where her grip on him is tight, and all of her is pressed right up against him. She moves quickly to the beat, shuffling from side to side and leaning on him heavily, and he follows her as best he can, moving along with her and narrowly avoiding standing on her feet far too many times.  
Sarah's definitely taking charge, and he's just desperately trying to keep up with her for the ride.

"Chuck, relax." she says, through gritted teeth, moving her hands to rest on his shoulders, squeezing gently.

"I'm trying, but you know this really isn't my thing," he mutters in reply, just as quiet and veiled, ducking his head and raising his arms as he bounces on his feet, and he feels her hands tighten again.

"I know."  
She pulls back all of a sudden, moves her hands away and makes his own fall from her upper back, pulls her warmth from him, and though she keeps sashaying to the beat, she looks at him, dead on.

He raises an eyebrow, wondering what she's up to.  
"What are you..."

"You take the lead." she states firmly, nodding once. Her voice isn't even that quiet, or hidden, she's just being straight with him.

"What?" he asks, lost, very confused.

Moving her hands through the air, she gestures to, well, all of her, sweeping from her head to her feet.  
"Take the lead."

"Oh." He steps forward on impulse, still trying to dance a little because stopping in the middle of the floor would draw them way too much of the wrong kind of attention, then looks her up and down, tries to figure out quite how to make something so unnatural and uncomfortable feel the exact opposite.  
Slipping his arms under her, he finds his hands comfortably resting against her back, much lower this time, one right at the base of her spine and the other just a little higher near her hip. She steps in as he pulls her closer, and he slips her hip more to the center of him, her legs either side of one of his rather than right in front of him, so he should comfortably avoid her feet. Her own hands seem to move automatically, one round his waist and her other arm hooking round his, resting on his shoulder, her face almost pressed against his neck, so close he can feel her breath fanning out against his skin.

"Better?" He hears her murmur, but her voice is throaty and caught again.

He tries a tentative sway, feels them move as one, together, to the beat.  
"Yeah."

At that, she seems to nod, and moves them even quicker.

The floor is full, brimming with dancing writhing people, all sharp elbows and pointy heels he swears keep targeting him, but he and Sarah soon move across the floor, grinding all close together, and Chuck blames the heat he suddenly feels on how busy the place is and the fact that he's dancing, and not the fact that he's pressed up against Sarah, which is definitely the cause of the flush spreading through his body, the sweat prickling his skin. He wishes he'd drunk more of the beer now.

She bends her knees a little when they're a good way across the floor, leans even more into him, and with her face still pressed against him, he feels her lips brush his neck as she shifts in movement. He forces himself to repress a shudder.  
"Move your hands." she murmurs, and he obeys right away. God, anything to keep her closer, he can't help but think.

His hands slip down, grip her hips, and he feels the extra sway she puts into them, the extra power in the movement, and he follows them along with his hands, making it look like he's the one doing the moving. She pulls away from his neck and looks him dead in the eye, and though she fakes a laugh of glee and heat, he sees the darkness in her eyes, the burning burning interest he's sure is only reflected in his own gaze.  
And then, she's leaning in, pressing her forehead against his as they move a little quicker. She breathes open-mouthed, eyes locked onto his, and when her tongue flicks out to moisten her lips he can feel the heat against his own mouth and his gaze travels down, intent on her lips, all red and shiny and puckered as they are. She moves her hands up as they keep dancing, as he keeps moving her hips, and she runs her fingers through his hair, messily. After all this closeness, somehow, her hands in his hair is what he just can't take.

Moving suddenly, he takes a step back and spins her round so her back is facing him and he can't see her far too tantalizing mouth anymore. Though he's intending to just let her dance separately for a while as they keep moving through the crowd to that staff door, however, Sarah seems to have other ideas, because she steps right back against his chest, reaches round and grabs his hands, and pulls them round in front of her. He slips his arms round her waist instinctively as she presses back against him, and he hears another fake laugh as she looks up and runs her hands through her own hair, letting it fall back down to her shoulders from where she lifts it to a height, and wriggles her hips in time to the music. She moves right against his lap. Repeatedly.

His brain is fogged by the time she flicks her hair over her shoulder, narrowly avoiding hitting him in the face with one of the citrus-smelling curls, and she sends him a wide grin, her tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth. Her eyes, though, send him a question. She's checking he's okay.  
He thinks it's that, that reaffirming look, plus the heat and his arms around her and her hips writhing against his lap, that makes him lean down to the stretch of her shoulder to her neck, just exposed to him, and press his lips against her skin.

She freezes in his arms. Tense. He keeps them dancing for the cover's sake, because they're right next to the door now and they should be able to slip away any second, and if he blows it at this moment by distracting her with an impulse he just couldn't quash, he'll hate himself forever.

But then she relaxes suddenly, leans right back against his chest and starts moving again, and he feels her hand reach up, fingers threading through his hair, holding him there. Pulse racing, he lifts his head from her shoulder, plants another kiss higher up, on the curve of her neck, and though it's just brief and shallow, he hears the moan that slips from her throat, and he knows, just knows, that one wasn't for show. It makes his blood rush, hot. Moving higher again, he finds the patch of skin behind her ear, kisses it too, slowly, gently, and her breath hitches. Her free hand finds one of his, still on her waist, and her fingers lace through his own, tight.

The feelings are overwhelming, and he wants nothing more than to stay here like this, with Sarah, just stay. But they're in this club for a reason, dancing for a reason. For a mission.

"When's the window?" he breathes, hovering his lips over her skin, taking a step back but moving her back with him, and it takes her a good couple seconds to answer, her head angling up just a little to eye the surveillance camera she'd spotted earlier.

"Five seconds."

"Let's go,"

She takes a deep breath against him then pulls out of his hold suddenly, sending him a fake wicked grin, mouth curled up in a smirk, and grasps his arm with her hands. Stepping back, he sees her pause momentarily, waiting for that final second, before she giggles and walks backwards against the door, pushing it open while never breaking eye contact with him. Her gaze is hungry, impatient, and though he knows that's likely part of the cover too, much like her smirk, a little part of him wonders if it's just a little bit real. Because after that show, he's pretty hungry and impatient himself.

The door opens into a dark empty and somehow thankfully cold hall, consisting of only a small room with a couple of storage boxes and a humming old refrigerator, and a flight of stairs. The floor plan they got as intel implied the club's offices were on the second level, so Chuck guesses that's where they want to go.

Sarah looks around at the small space, then nods to him, uncurls her hands from his arm.  
"Come on, we've got two minutes if we want to make this comfortably."

Her heels echo out in the emptiness as she walks ahead of him, quickly, and he almost trips over his own feet trying to keep up. Her frame is tense again, and he knows what just happened is at the forefront of her mind as much as it is in his. It wasn't bad, or detrimental to the mission, if anything it should've helped them sell the cover since it was very much a real moment, but there's still an issue with it, because _it was very much a real moment_. She got distracted, he got distracted, and god, he definitely shouldn't have kissed her skin for real. He resists the urge to lick his lips as he hurries up the stairs, but it's difficult. He can taste her anyway. She's as intoxicating as ever, just as she was when they first met.

There are a few rooms upstairs, all empty of personnel and all shrouded in darkness, lights off, computers shut down, but Chuck knows he and Sarah are only looking for one or two things here and they should be able to find those pretty easily. This might not be where the charity is based, no, but it's far easier to infiltrate this club than a giant business building with high tech security, and there's one key detail this club can provide: the charity's accounts. If he and Sarah can find those, find the account number on anything representing the payment from the charity to this club, that's all the CIA will need. The analysts, just like Chuck used to be, sitting at a little desk in a little room, can do the rest.

The doors aren't even locked. The first room proves a bust, it's a staff break room, bottles of water are scattered on a lone table and dirty mugs are lying in the sink, but the second room has rows and rows of filing cabinets, and he strolls over to them while Sarah keeps watch at the door. He pulls open the drawers, quickly seeing the files are arranged alphabetically by company and searching in the right drawer for the one they'll need. There's a good few papers in the marked file once he finds it, some useless organizational emails between someone from the club and someone from the group, a page that's just the charity's website printed off with their fabricated 'goals and legacy' section circled in highlighter (yeah, in his hacking of the database, Chuck had found out just how big a front this charity really is, 'goals and legacy' isn't quite accurate), but there's one piece of paper with details he can't quite make out in the light. Rifling around in his pocket, he finds his cell phone and flicks it open, using the dim LCD light to try and illuminate the page. His vision clears up quickly, and he can make out the amount the charity paid, the signatory from the club, and... There, right in the middle, is the account number.

"Got it!" he exclaims as he closes the filing cabinet, but Sarah turns sharply to him with burning eyes, a finger raised to her lips. He hears the creaking of the door downstairs. Oh crap.

He flips his phone shut quickly, shoving it back into his pocket and moving to the corner of the room while Sarah shuffles to the right, hiding right by the side of the doorframe, pressing herself up against the wall and blending into the darkness. Footsteps echo out from the stairs, gradually getting louder, and Chuck holds his breath when they slow and eventually cease. A shadow from the dim hall stretches out through the door.

"What the..." An accented voice starts, but it's all they get to say. Sarah lands a punch to the guy's jugular, and he's out like a light.

"You got it?" she asks, turning back round to Chuck, her hair flying round like a halo, and he wants to point out the ridiculousness of her asking that when it was his jubilant exclamation of such a phrase that almost got their cover blown, but he keeps his mouth shut, moving toward her and handing her the piece of paper. She looks at it briefly, and nods. "Let's get out of here, now."

She turns around and starts to head away, and he stumbles to catch up with her, yet again, her pace so hasty as it is. It sends slight warning bells sounding in his mind— they need to get out of here quickly, but not as quickly as Sarah's tearing through the place. She stops abruptly at the bottom of the stairs, though, and he turns to her with a questioning look only to see her folding up the document into a tiny little square.

"What are you- oh." He flushes bright red as he sees her shift her dress, slip the folded piece of paper snugly into her bra. He can't lie, it's a good hiding place, but it's also good at turning his brain to mush.

Just when he thinks they can leave again, she tugs on his hand and pulls him back, and rather than protesting he just lets her run her hand through his hair, unbutton another button on the very shirt she'd done _up_ earlier, and then he waits patiently as she ruffles her own hair, hooks her skirt up a little more. This bit of the cover is somehow less embarrassing than the actual dancing or fake making out part, and he supposes that sums them up, really.

"Can we go now?" he asks, adrenaline surging through him, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"One more thing."  
She looks at him for a beat, conflicted, like she can't decide whether to go through with something or not. And then, she grasps his hand, leans up, and kisses his cheek.

It should be brief, chaste, over with in half a second, but she stays in close, breathes out against his skin, and he feels her plant another kiss to his jaw as she moves back. Her fingers leave his to reach up, brush the places her mouth has just been, and he realizes she's smudging her lipstick on him, adding to their hasty-exit cover, but it still burns his skin, makes him feel like his hair is standing on end all over him. It makes him want more. Want to feel this, more, all the time.

Before he can think on it, she tugs on his hand, pulls the door open, and struts determinedly out onto the floor. A beefy looking guy Chuck recognizes from the personnel logs as the charity's head of PR appears in front of them suddenly, out of nowhere, but with a quick surveying glance, he moves aside. Chuck guesses Sarah's little ruffling of their costumes must've passed the test.

They carry on marching through the crowd until they spill out onto the street, nobody else more than amused at their antics, nobody else suspicious, clearly buying their impatient frustrated couple cover, and then they round the corner onto a busier section of road and wait for a cab.

Sarah pulls away and shakes her arms out, twists her hair over one shoulder before sending him a glance, the road devoid of cabs for the moment.  
"Nice job," she says, often her words at the close of a mission, and he knows she's not joking. That worked, almost a little too well, probably.

"You too."

She doesn't even look very cold, standing in just her little black dress. It's not that late in the night, either, only midnight or so, and it's still pretty humid, but he takes a step nearer to her instinctively, shrugs his jacket off his shoulders. She takes it, wordlessly, and he knows her acceptance of his gesture is the most telling thing of all, somehow.  
Once it's slipped over her frame, swamping and swarming her, she just sends him a sleepy smile, toothy and warm, and he feels her fingers tangling with his once more. He glances out at the road briefly, but he can only make out distant headlights.

"Hey," he murmurs, adrenaline ebbing away. "I'll take the couch."

She smirks, leans out into the road, waves a hand.  
"Okay." She grins at him once again as the cab pulls up, and he can only return it in reply, heart racing oh so familiarly.

As they pile into the cab and head back to the hotel, the safety of succeeding in the mission floods his veins, along with the knowledge that the numbers they came for are nestled comfortably against Sarah's chest. The awkward hazy lust of that cover sheds off his shoulders, too, replaced by just their usual awkward hazy lust, where he's just Chuck Bartowski, head over heels.  
He realizes, absentmindedly, that he can still taste Sarah's skin on his lips, and that his cheek and his jaw are still tingling from her kisses, so many minutes ago as they were. Looking over at her, he reaches for her hand again.

It's like a spark, when they touch. It's always a spark with her.

* * *

 **a/n 2:** Next time, things get a little close, and Chuck has a realization. A big one. See you next week, and as ever, please leave a review on your way out!


	7. Kentucky

**summary:** On his last night home in LA before becoming a field agent, Chuck finds himself begrudgingly dragged to a nightclub, all thanks to Morgan. But what he meets there, or rather, who he meets there, is about to change his life, and his future spy career, in ways he can't possibly imagine. Partnered up, Chuck and Sarah have to navigate the spy life, missions, their memories of that fateful night, and a whole lot of feelings. AU.

 **a/n:** Hello! It's ridiculously, dangerously, blizzard-ly snowy here and my classes have been cancelled all week because nobody's, like, allowed to be on the roads, but at least that meant I had plenty of time to edit this chapter. Yup, this train is still rolling, and y'all are still awesome. This chapter's got a bit more background on how Chuck ended up here, if you're interested in that, and like I said last time, stuff happens. A lot of stuff. I had some fun putting these two through the ringer, honestly, but I'll shut up and let you all (hopefully!) enjoy this. As ever, please leave a review if you like it. I know I super suck at replying to them, I'm sorry I'm sorry, but trust me, I love reading them, they're so brilliant and they really make me smile. Anyway, onwards!  
 **summary:** I don't own Chuck, Scotch, hotel canopies, or crappy couches.

* * *

 **february**

She is softness and warmth in his arms. Breath hot against his mouth every time she moves her lips, hands tangled in his hair, touch heated, searing. His arms are slipped tight round her waist to hold her against him, and he feels the soft curves of her pressing into his front as her tongue strokes his. He tries to suppress a groan at the sensations but he fails, entirely, giving everything to her as he leans back against the wall and lets it take the weight of them. She just moves up against him even more, feeling warm and familiar and comfortable and perfect.

"Has Stephens made us?"  
The question is mumbled into his mouth, dragging him from the bliss of his mind, and he strokes her sides, the fabric of her shirt slipping beneath his fingers. He forces the haze in his brain to melt away, then pulls one eye open and casts a look to the door where their mark was last eyeing them suspiciously as she had a cigarette out on this little balcony. Now, she's heading back inside, the last tendrils of smoke drifting up out the ash tray.

"No, we're good."

Sarah pulls away, taking her warmth with her, and, breathless and stunned, Chuck finds he can only stay leaning back against the wall as his partner straightens her clothes. That just happened.  
"How do I look?" she asks, somehow casually.

He blinks, eyes her. She is flawless, smiling, ruffled and beautiful, and his heart is pounding in a way that has nothing to do with his being a little out of breath. Maybe his brain-to-mouth filter has decided to take the night off, maybe he's too just-kissed to care, but he finds his jaw falling in a gape anyway.  
"Sarah you cannot seriously expect me to answer that right now." He'd in no way be unbiased, by any stretch of his imagination.

She somehow flushes and smirks at the same time, then reaches up to fix his tie. A vague memory fills his mind, of her tugging hard on it when she'd pulled him in for the kiss, but most rational thought had fled his mind soon after and he hadn't dwelled on it then.

Clearing his throat to get his head on a little straighter, he runs a hand through his hair, probably making the situation worse with it following Sarah's endeavors in the curls but he doesn't mind. The mark has just seen them both, they don't need to pretend to her that they didn't just make out, heavily. Desperately. God, that, really did just happen.

"Okay, she just headed back inside, we should follow her."

Sarah nods in agreement and tugs on his hand, dragging him back into the relaxed soirée the tech convention are throwing for all guests, which includes the two of them, undercover. They'd been led to Kentucky by a hacker who'd used a virus, who they'd been led to by a kid in Europe who'd created the virus, who they'd been led to by an anonymous tip left by a concerned computer tech in an electronics store in San Francisco. It's been a wild goose chase ever since Graham handed them the mission weeks ago, but they're here now, finally, at the top of the chain, the endgame. Lana Stephens is a dangerous woman looking for a dangerous virus to use dangerously, and it's up to Chuck and Sarah to stop her. Graham's number one partnership with a spotless record.  
Of course, Chuck thinks, Graham's number one partnership have just made out for the first time since they slept together before they even properly met, and at least one of them is very much in deep here, the other one quite possibly too, so things are a little out of sorts for them right now. But that's just a finer detail.

Despite the fact that things have been a little fragile, shaky, since last month, the two of them haven't fallen to pieces just quite yet. Though, yes, Chuck had gotten a taste of her skin in that club, he'd felt her warmth all pressed up against him, he and Sarah have managed to keep their distance, control. Now, though, he can almost feel the cracks beginning to splinter, all from that kiss.

Because, his more recent explorations of her in that club aside, despite the many couple covers they've acted out over the past five months, they haven't really _kissed_. They've had a few pecks before, a few fake kisses and the odd chaste brushings-of-lips, but they've been quick, empty, always for a cover. He's all too aware of the huge difference between those kisses and the full-on heat Sarah just kissed him with- god, she seemed as hungry and desperate as he'd felt. And he'd gotten to hold her again, feel her warmth her curves her hips, without the pretense of dancing in a club as cover, frankly without a cover at all. There might have been a mission-related reason for their kissing, but Chuck knows, the moment their lips had met, any cover had fallen away, and they'd just been exactly who they are. Chuck and Sarah, making out, just like they had done oh so long ago. He'd been able to taste her determined tongue, feel the softness of her lips, and oh now he's just aching for her so desperately after all this time by her side, distanced as he'd tried to be. They'd just about kept control since before that Ecuador mission, and since before Christmas, kept apart with what Chuck had guessed was mutual desire, but now, with this kiss, they seem to have jumped a couple stages.  
They're way past desire, now, they're at desperation.

It's not just a spark. It's fire.

And yet, even with this constantly underlining their partnership, building and building as it's always been, Chuck is still struck with how easy this job can feel, how easy, say, this last mission has felt. They're an amazing team, and he knows the reason why. Because they're different. Because they both have eternally unspoken feelings for each other that make them take risks to save the other. Because they're both compromised, so that makes them both great. It's a mess of broken rules and protocol if Chuck's ever heard of it, and it goes against all his training and definitely Sarah's too, but it works, and the results frankly speak for themselves.

He calls over a waitress as they step back into the lounge, and orders a Scotch because he knows he needs something like that right now. When the server asks if Sarah wants anything too, his partner merely shakes her head and squeezes his hand, still in hers.

She leans into him once the waitress has left, shoulder brushing his, just as they move to sit down.  
"You with me?" God, he's sure she can read his mind sometimes. Of course she'd check where his head is at, right now.

He nods, smiles.  
"Always." he says, completely honest. Because despite his addled thoughts, the longing in his chest, it's the truth. He's got his eye on things. And he's always with Sarah, always.

They make their way back to the two seats they'd suddenly impatiently abandoned when the mark had moved onto the balcony, and as they sit down Chuck is sure a couple of the other attendees in the room send knowing smirks his way. He ignores them, eyeing the space instead.

Stephens is mingling, smiling and chatting like she doesn't know exactly who she's been here to meet or what she's going to find. The convention's been going on for days and Chuck and Sarah have been in attendance during every one, with a fake stall for a fake antivirus software Chuck had set up in two minutes flat. They'd had five investors approach them the first day alone; after that, he'd stopped counting. None of it had been real. It was all just a front to monitor Stephens and her own false company and see when she made contact with Matt, the hacker who'd led them here. He did a good job with his role the last few days, sold the specifics, and now he's safely on a plane back out of here to go to some prison somewhere for cyberterrorism, Chuck supposes. Tonight, Stephens should pick up the virus from the dead drop in this very room as per Matt's instructions, and they can take her down, job done.  
Those investors will find their checks will only bounce, and will have to live with the disappointment of losing out on, as one had called it, the opportunity of a lifetime.

"Maybe I chose the wrong career." he muses aloud once his whiskey arrives, taking a sip. He's said similar sentiments the past few days, though not in so many words. Sarah turns to look at him, so he keeps his eyes on Stephens, maintaining the surveillance. They need to catch her the second she picks up the virus, not a moment later. She can't get away with it.

"Don't say that," Sarah murmurs, sighing. Though her tone is a little more chastising than Chuck had been expecting, he just shrugs.

"No, I'm just sayin', maybe I did. I mean, we got investors for a software I cooked up without any thought, I can't even imagine what could happen if I actually developed something of my own for real." The drink must be loosening his tongue just a bit, or, actually, maybe that was Sarah's own tongue's doing, against his. His heart is still racing and he's barely had a sip of the Scotch, so he guesses it's the latter. That aside, she doesn't respond to his words, and so he continues, voice a little lower so nobody near them will overhear. "I always thought I'd go into computer science. I was in engineering at college when I got recruited, y'know. My roommate got pulled in junior year and he tried to stop my professor from giving me the _do you want to help your country_ speech because he thought I'd never survive field work. I'm pretty sure he got in some trouble for it, last I heard he was in Russia, deep cover."  
He tries to keep his tone light and devoid of any of the anger he felt and still feels for Bryce Larkin, but he's not sure if he succeeds. If Bryce got benched on a long assignment for trying to interfere in the recruitment of an agent, rather than remaining a field agent himself, Chuck can't really blame him. Not only were Bryce's actions way off the reservation in terms of rule-breaking, but it all ruined their friendship too. Bryce's way of trying to stop Chuck being recruited was to frame him, suggest he'd been cheating on his tests, and get him expelled. If Chuck hadn't caught Bryce planting the papers under his bed…

"I didn't know that." Sarah says, voice tight and restrained, but he sorta only half-notices it, and he keeps going.

"I chose to be an analyst instead as a compromise, and then here we are now. Someone saw my work and I'm in the field anyway. God, where could I even be right now if I'd stayed out of this game?" He scoffs a quiet laugh, but Sarah doesn't laugh in response by his side.

"You'd probably be... very rich, and safe, and happy." she says instead, bitterly, tapping her fingers against his impatiently where their hands just touch on her chair's arm. He turns to face her as she looks out to their mark to maintain the surveillance, narrowing his eyes to the side of her cheek at her tone.

She must've added two and two together and come up with six, he thinks, because she's pissed at him and the only reason he can think of as to why that may be is that she thinks he wants that life. In that life, he'd never have even met her, he knows. How on earth could he want it if it doesn't involve her? How could he ever want any alternate life, any different path he could have taken, if she wouldn't be there too?  
Considering he feels so strongly for his partner, Chuck can't help but think he has an uncanny knack for making her feel like crap. He swallows, sighs.

"And I wouldn't get to work with you every day."

Her fingers still, abruptly stop their tapping.  
"And... that."

Silence rises, and within it she turns to look at him anyway, mandatory constant surveillance of Stephens be damned, apparently, and Chuck feels the longing in his chest spike tenfold. This damn mission has been confusing, tiring, and here he is so close to closing it and he's babbling about what-ifs and upsetting his partner at the same time. Her eyes are dark, veiled, but he can see the crease of frustration in her forehead, see the tightness in her frame. He can think of nothing else but her at this moment. Like always now, it seems, he can't quash the urge within him to reach for her, too, can't suppress it, can't let it go. It just rises and rises, getting stronger the more he looks at her, the more he holds her gaze, and tonight, after that kiss, after this mission, he just gives up, and gives in.

Everyone in the room has bought his and Sarah's cover already so when he leans in to kiss her just briefly, nobody bats an eyelid except for Sarah herself. She breathes in sharply, curls her fingers around his as their lips meet, and grips his hand so so tight, and when he pulls back after a beat or two her eyes are still closed, slow.  
He shouldn't have done that. But it felt amazing. And he's sure those fragile cracks are just one more moment away from shattering into pieces.

"I think I made the right choice," he murmurs, and when he tears his gaze from her to sneak a look back to the mark, Stephens is hovering by the bookshelf just next to the door out of the room. Right where the dead drop is.  
Chuck wills her to take it, begs her to take it, so he can finish this long rambling mission, end it finally, and mostly so he can let go of this cover because he is incredibly close to breaking and Sarah's hand is warm and soft and still in his and he shouldn't have just kissed her because she knows just how he feels right now and that shouldn't have happened and all he wants is to kiss her again and again and again.

Stephens reaches out, tugs on something Chuck knows to be a thumb drive, and pulls it from its confines. It would be a subtle move if he weren't paying such attention now. Without even a word, he and Sarah stand, make their way over to her, slowly, still hand-in-hand so as not to spook her.

"I think we're gonna need that, Lana." he says, when they're only a few feet away and the mark's hand is still dipped into the purse she's just dropped the drive in.

Stephens' head snaps up, eyes burning with shock and fury, and she frowns.  
"You two." Her voice is disdainful, annoyed. He cocks his head, raises an eyebrow as her gaze roams over them, eventually landing on their still-linked hands. She looks back up at them, and some innate sense in Chuck rears its head in warning. "I don't think so."

And, with that, she runs.

* * *

When they stumble out onto the roof, he's exhausted from the dozens of flights of stairs, sweat rather grossly dripping down his back, and Sarah is, as ever, still flawless. Not a hair on her head is out of place, he swears. Thinking about it, Chuck realizes that the only time she ever looks mildly ruffled is when he kisses her, and he wants to think that over more but Stephens is on the other side of the roof with a gun in her hand, grabbed from her purse with the flash drive before she'd tossed her purse away a few seconds after fleeing, and so he grabs his own tranq pistol from the small of his back just as she turns and notices them. Sarah follows suit, quick to draw. He just kissed her twice in ten minutes after months without, he's confused, she's confused, and yet here they are, slipping back into their jobs as easy as anything. Times like this, he's sure he picked the right career path.

"Give it up, Stephens. We've got you cornered, we took out your backup. You're all alone." Sarah shouts, taking slow steps toward their mark. Chuck follows behind her, shuffling along on the gravel-topped roof.  
They'd only tranqed the henchmen, of course, but Stephens doesn't need to know that. Wouldn't want her thinking they're soft, of course.

"You don't understand how difficult it was to find this thing, I'm not just gonna hand it over right now." Stephens scoffs, and Sarah rolls her eyes out the corner of Chuck's view.

"Oh, I think you will," he says, stepping ever closer and closing the distance, tightening and adjusting his grip on his gun. "And yeah, we know how hard it was, we were chasing it with you the whole damn time."

"Pfft, should've known." Stephens' tone is bitter and disarming- not literally, of course, but it surprises Chuck. He'd expected more fury from the woman they've tailed for weeks, not just annoyed frustration. "No two tech nerds are as all over each other as you two are."

He wants to ask what the hell that's supposed to mean, but actually, he doesn't really want to know what she means at all. In this whole cover, he and Sarah have only made out one time, not so long ago, and other than that when Stephens has seen them they've just been hand-in-hand or 'working' on the 'stall'. There was that kiss in the lounge a few minutes ago, of course, but that was hardly long or significant or attention-drawing. And yet, Stephens thinks they've been all over each other. As he frowns, something in Chuck's mind reminds him of that picture of him and Sarah tucked up in his wallet, with his feelings for her as clear as day on his face. He thinks just how easy it had been to dance with her in Ecuador, to hold her close, to kiss her skin.  
Oh. So, that's probably what Stephens has been seeing. He gulps.

"We're with the CIA, Lana." he says, changing the subject and clearing his throat. "And like I said, we're gonna need that back."

Stephens mutters something about the CIA and amateurs, then straightens up and stares right at Sarah, ignoring Chuck altogether.  
"Well come and get it, then."

He suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. In the months he's worked with Sarah now, the amount of bad guys who've underestimated her based on her slight build and often, just her being a woman, is astonishing.  
But since they've danced this dance before, he merely steps aside and lets his partner take the lead, awaiting the show of ass-kicking that's to come.

Sarah steps forward, reaches for the flash drive, and carnage begins.

Stephens throws the first punch. She's a good fighter, Chuck notes, whilst holding his breath as he always does when Sarah fights anyone, and it's for that reason he keeps his gun aimed at her as she throws hits his partner's way. Sarah's good, of course, her usually clean style a little scrappier due to the uneven terrain, but she's still sharp and calculating. One kick and twisting of Stephens' arm sends the thumb drive tumbling to the gravelly ground, another calculated punch to her jugular from Sarah makes the other woman sway and growl at his partner. The moment Sarah lets go, Stephens reaches up and grasps her arm, moves in again, and Chuck's sure Sarah's about to launch another awesome attack to keep the woman away.  
However, when Stephens raises her other hand, the one that's somehow still holding her gun, and the click of the safety echoes out across the dull night, Chuck acts instinctually. He straightens his spine, and fires a dart right at Stephens' shoulder. It's a perfect shot, and she slumps immediately.

"You son of a..." she slurs, the drug instantly taking effect.  
Eyes blinking slowly shut, her feet slide against the ground, and for a second it's all going to plan and she's due to hit the floor. But then something happens, what Chuck doesn't know, but then her feet are slipping back, her center of gravity shifting, and she begins to fall to her left, falling back. She must be nearer the roof's edge than he'd anticipated because suddenly, she's about to topple right off it and Chuck feels suddenly sick.  
Most of that is due to the fact that, despite it all, Stephens still has a tight grip on Sarah's arm.

When the first woman falls, she takes his partner with him, and he hears only Sarah's screaming yelp as they disappear over the side of the roof and out of his view.

As they fall to the ground.

An awful bubble swamps him. Heavy, thick, making the edges of the world blur, making every sound muffled. He runs across to the brink as he screams Sarah's name, but he can't hear it, can't hear or see or think of anything at all. His knees give way mid-step, mid-run, and he falls to the jagged ground with a muted pain shooting through his legs.  
The woman he loves has just fallen ten stories right in front of his eyes and it was his fault, his shot, his tranq. Sarah could've dodged the bullet, Sarah could've disarmed Stephens, Sarah could've-

"Chuck!"  
His heart kickstarts again.

"Sarah?!" he yells again, rushing right to the edge and looking over, scanning the sidewalk below for any sight of her even though something terrified inside him makes him wonder if it'll be blood and guts and a mess and he's just hallucinating her voice.

But no, defying absolutely everything, Sarah's there. Standing on the ground on top of what he thinks used to be the canopy overlooking the hotel entrance and is now just a mess of tarp and cloth, running her hands through her hair, looking up at him, she's there. The tarp must've broken her fall, her and Stephens' fall, Chuck thinks, seeing the other woman sprawled out on the corner fast asleep, but he doesn't give a damn about her, not anymore.

He tries to make words, tries to stop his rushing ragged breath, tries to clear his vision and lower his heart rate, but he fails at it all and finally presses out a breathy "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she says, nodding hastily and brushing herself down. "A little bruised and I cut my hand, but I'm fine, you?"

He laughs mirthlessly. Of course she'd check on him when she's the one who literally almost died ten seconds ago. Of course.  
"I'm okay. Hold on, hold on I'm coming down."

He gets halfway to the rooftop door before doubling back and picking up the flash drive, still intact if dusty and dirty from the ground. He slips it into his pocket. Damn thing's more trouble than it's worth.

As he jumps down the flights of stairs, taking them two or four at a time, leaping and stumbling over them in haste, he tries to compose himself, tries to slow his heartbeat again, tries to keep his cool. But there's a lingering panic and sickness in him he knows won't go away until he manages to get to Sarah, manages to check she's really okay, manages to check out that cut on her hand and just let things be normal and ordinary. And mostly, they need to get the hell away from this nightmare of a mission. It had been relatively tame, if annoying, up until about five minutes ago, and now Chuck never wants to think about it again.

He bursts out the door to the stairs breathlessly, eyes scanning the lobby for any sign of Sarah at all. The front door's still blocked by the fallen canopy, obviously, and a few stunned nosy patrons are already peering out through the glass, but he can't see Sarah. He looks around more, wonders if she's hiding in the shadows, waiting for him, but yet again he sees nothing. He can't find where she is or where she might be or how he's going to get to her. And suddenly, he can feel himself spiralling, spiralling badly, can feel his breath get tighter and quicker and his palms get clammy and he needs to get this under control but he can't do that until he finds her and he's only spiralling because he can't find her and—

A hand slips into his.

His vision is blurred with tears as she steps in front of him, but he can somehow still see her, clear as day. See the redness blooming on her neck, sure to bruise, see her hair looking ragged, now pulled into a messy ponytail, see her eye makeup smudged around and under her eyes, see her skin, pale. She's perfect, and it just hits him now what he'd realized earlier up on that roof as she'd fallen.  
He loves her. He's in love with her. He has been for months now, really, he can't remember a time when he didn't love her, didn't want to always be with her, didn't want anything but to live his life by her side. It's so obvious now, so simple. And he almost lost her.

She slips her arms around his waist and sends him a sad smile before leaning against him, resting her head against his chest oh so wonderfully, and it takes a second for his limbs to start working, but once they do he just falls into her, clings to her tightly, one arm anchoring round her shoulders and his other hand cradling her head. He buries his face into her neck, her hair, squeezes his eyes shut tight both to stop the tears still brimming there and to let the moment sink in, let him breathe and start once more.

When she pulls away she slips her hand back into his and he clutches it tight, like a beacon, a lifeline, a reminder that she's still here. Still with him.

"I'm sorry, I was calling Graham. There's a clean-up crew on their way to apprehend Stephens- we need to get out of here before they show up or the real authorities do. We were never here, Chuck, okay?"

He clears his throat.  
"Fine by me." Very, very fine. He just wishes it were true— he'd give anything to forget that feeling that had swarmed him as she fell.

She makes to move but he's still a little slow, a little frozen. Stuck on that feeling.  
"You with me?" she asks, eyes on his, seeking. It feels like her asking that has become a mantra, somehow, a reassurance, their own little personal reminder. He responds the only way he can.

"Always."

* * *

The water is cool against his face, snapping him out of his reverie, and he takes a deep breath as he relishes the biting feeling, the relief.

Sarah had spent ages in the bathroom, cleaning her wounds and washing the blood and the dirt from herself, and when she'd emerged to finally let him in she only had the bruise across her collarbone and a butterfly bandage on her hand, similar to his back in November, to show for her near-death experience. _God_ , near death. He can't even think about it.  
He should be grateful, Chuck knows, that it's taken almost six months for them to come this close, to brush so closely with this kind of danger, but he can't be grateful one little bit, because Sarah almost died and he'd have been the means, the culprit, the witness, all in one. And so when she'd slipped past him he'd promptly dived into the bathroom and, for a few cathartic seconds, let the panic overwhelm him. And then he'd run some very cold water and cleared his head.

Shrugging on the t-shirt he'd bought in a store on the state border, while Sarah was buying medical supplies, he dries his face roughly on the motel hand towel and tries not to wince at the gross scratchy feeling. They hadn't exactly had time to find a nice place to stay once they'd fled Kentucky and crossed over into Indiana; they'd barely even had time to gather their things. Chuck had scooped up his wallet and laptop, foregoing the lesser essentials like clothes, while Sarah had grabbed just a few items herself. The clean-up crew will find and return everything in time, he knows, but their biggest concern had been getting out the way of suspicious convention goers and hotel staff. Most people in that lounge would've seen Chuck and Sarah running after Stephens when she fled, some might have even seen Sarah landing on the ground with the mark, too. Since their real reasons for being there can never be revealed, those people will probably have been told Chuck and Sarah were fleeing suspects who pushed Stephens off the roof or something, and things will be smoothed over in time. But for now, Chuck's in a cheap itchy plain t-shirt in a cheap itchy motel, about to go sleep on a crappy couch because Sarah's the injured one and he insisted she needed the bed tonight despite her protests. (Yes, he sleeps on the couch mostly all the time anyway, but that's not the point. Then, it's a choice. Tonight, it's a necessity.)

Slipping off his jeans and just leaving his boxers as pajama shorts, he runs a quick hand through his hair, and since he can feel the panic trying to strike once more, slips back out into the motel room, relief flooding him when he spies Sarah.

She's standing at the window, looking out at the dull sights outside, her body framed in the orange glow of the streetlight right outside. Her arms are wrapped round herself, clutching tightly at the big thick-knit cardigan she'd tugged out her suitcase hours ago, one of the few items she'd brought here with her. The material swamps her in big soft waves, and it looks warm and comforting, well-used though Chuck can't recall ever seeing it before.  
A sad part of him wonders if Sarah only ever wears it after days like today. Days when the reality of their job, the danger, the difficulty, becomes all too pin-sharp to cope with.

She looks his way, gaze finding his. That streetlight is weak and dim, the only source illuminating the room, and thanks to it Chuck can hardly see the bruise appearing on her neck or the red rims round her eyes, but he knows they're still there, as they were in the hotel lobby, as they were the whole car journey here, as he senses they will be for a while yet. They're a sickening reminder of how close they both came.

He can tell she's as shaken as he is at what happened today, at how the mission turned from long but simple into the crashing of her body into a canopy, but he knows she's been at this longer, dealt with things like this before where it's his first real brush with death, and she can probably just cover it up better than he can. So after all that, after all he knows she's done, all he knows she's seen, for her still to be standing here looking pale and stunned and worried? He cannot imagine just how scared she must've been. It sends more panic spiralling through his veins.

"I-" she starts, then cuts herself off, looking down to the floor while fiddling with something on her cardigan. She looks so small, so drawn into herself, and it terrifies him. This whole damn situation scares him.

"Sarah."  
His voice is quieter than he'd expected.

"I was thinking about you." she murmurs, shifting her body toward him but keeping her gaze on the ground, at her feet. He's not sure what she means, or what he should say, he just knows his heart is racing. She shrugs, pulls into herself again. "I was falling and I was thinking I was going to die... And I just thought about you. If we never talk about us, about it, about when we met, I could never-"

" _Sarah_."

Her frame jerks suddenly, maybe at his tone, and she looks back up at him, and he's gone.  
There are tears in her eyes and pain and affection and anguish too and he just can't hold back, not anymore, not after this rollercoaster of a day of a month of several months, and so his feet just start moving, start carrying him to her, and he knows what's going to happen before he even reaches her, but maybe she does as well because she starts crossing the distance to him too. They meet in the middle, with arms that curve round each other, and he holds her and oh she holds him, and when his lips meet hers it's unlike anything they've ever shared before.

It's not just weighted, it's not just heated, it's not just sad. It's perfect, and sweet, and lamenting and anchoring, reminding him of all he almost lost, almost had to lose, all of that for her too, he thinks. Tears burn in his eyes at the slow intensity of it, the passion, the drive, the way her tongue runs along his lips, the way her hand strokes the nape of his neck, and he cradles the small of her back with one hand, nestles his fingers in her hair with the other, holds her close and still and soft. She moans into his mouth but it doesn't spark him forward like before, months ago, it just makes his eyes burn more because he feels it too, feels how overwhelming this is, how forbidden it is, just how much they should stop. But when she pulls back to part he can only follow her, keep his lips joined with hers, and she leans right back into him again with a breathy sigh against his mouth. It makes his pulse roar in his ears.

He's missed her, he loves her, he almost lost her. And none of these things were meant to happen.

When they break apart, they still cling to each other, and he walks them slowly back to the bed, because he can't bear to move away. He sits down on the edge of the mattress and she just crawls across onto his lap, resting her face against the curve of his neck and slipping her arms around him.  
He's not sure where this should go, where he even wants it to go, but when Sarah's hands find the hem of his t-shirt tentatively, he finds himself stopping her against all his dreams.

"We shouldn't, you're hurt."

He can't see her but he's sure she's frowning.  
"It's not that bad." She's deliberately only answered one part of his statement, and he knows it.

"No, but you're still hurt," he says with a sigh. He never thought he'd be stopping this. Never thought it would be happening again _to_ stop. "And we shouldn't, we can't."

They could, actually, he knows they could, he knows the no strings attached policy that infamously runs through the agency. Don't tell anyone, don't let it interfere, don't get feelings, and you can sleep with whoever you like. But with Sarah... oh, there are definitely strings. There are definitely feelings.

She kisses his neck, and though heat flares in him he still keeps his hands against hers, holding his shirt down.  
"I know. But... spies do this all the time, Chuck." she says, distractedly, and he loves her so much he'd do absolutely anything for her, and god he does want this, but they still shouldn't. And she knows that. Let alone that they shouldn't overall, but not now, not for this reason. Not when she really is hurt.

He runs his thumbs over her knuckles.  
"Sarah, we're not like other spies."

She freezes against him, pulls back and looks right at him. Her gaze is penetrating and intense and he knows she's searching for something, but for what, he doesn't know. She sighs. He's not sure if she found anything or not.  
"You're right."

When she leans back in, it's just to rest her forehead against his and breathe, in and out, again and again, slowly and deeply.

Relief washes over him. He's about to steal another kiss just to reassure her that this isn't about her, isn't him not having feelings for her because, oh boy, does he have feelings for her, but when he tilts his head up he finds her already leaning in, and she catches his bottom lip between hers, kissing him so sweetly his stomach flips before she pulls away again, slow.  
This is just what has to happen tonight. And, perhaps, forever, because though she's injured tonight, other nights are still to come, he knows that. Nights as tough as this, after days as tough, but also the every day, normal missions, normal nights they have to spend together because of this crazy situation they've found themselves in. But he also knows that one day, some day, soon or in the very farthest distance, one of them will crack, give in, jump, and the other will willingly follow. They can't hold out for the rest of their lives, surely.

She smiles a little sadly and he strokes her hips in reassurance. He knows all too well exactly how she feels.

"C'mon, let's go to bed."  
They're already on the bed, but that's rather beside the point.

She moves off him, taking her warmth with her so suddenly he almost whimpers, then crawls up to the pillows and pulls the sheets back, and with one look back at the really really crappy couch across the room, Chuck's mind is made up. Though, frankly, after that kiss he hardly had any interest in sleeping anywhere but by her side.  
He crawls up next to her, slips beneath the sheets himself, and leans back to settle in. Sarah's already curled up next to him, facing away, and he sees the vague outline of her back, the curve of her hip. Though he knows he's not sure about her, he also knows he needs something tonight, some contact, some reassurance. And so he shuffles closer, so close his head is almost off his own pillow and lying on hers instead, and then he runs a hand down her side. A thrill jolts through him when she shudders, visibly, at the touch, but he ignores it, presses it far away.

Instead, he slips his hand round her hip and presses his palm against her stomach, smiling when he goes to tug her closer only to find her already shifting and shuffling back against him. Her remarkably cold feet slip between his, her fingers lace through his own against her stomach. They fit together perfectly, just like they did, all those months ago. He presses a kiss to the curve of her shoulder and smiles against her skin when he hears her hum just a little.

This sleeping arrangement may be a new development and a new addition to their already so complicated partnership, but if she needs this right now, and Chuck knows he definitely needs it to a degree, he has no complaints. They need to talk, as always, need to address this, figure things out, because there's no going backwards on this, only onwards, forwards, progression. And he's sure, suddenly, so very sure, that they'll get through it.

She's Sarah, he loves her, he'll do anything for her. Always.

* * *

 **a/n 2:** See, I said stuff happened. Rooftops are scary. Anyway, we're not slowing down here, I promise, so I'll see you next week for more Stuff, and as ever, please leave a review on your way out!


	8. Location Unknown

**summary:** On his last night home in LA before becoming a field agent, Chuck finds himself begrudgingly dragged to a nightclub, all thanks to Morgan. But what he meets there, or rather, who he meets there, is about to change his life, and his future spy career, in ways he can't possibly imagine. Partnered up, Chuck and Sarah have to navigate the spy life, missions, their memories of that fateful night, and a whole lot of feelings. AU.

 **a/n:** Here we go again. Y'all still rock so much. I'm gonna shut up, and let you read this. Buckle up (buckle in?), I hope you enjoy the ride.  
 **summary:** I don't own Chuck, any of the bunch of nerdy references I've shoved in here, spy vans, or unspecified places.

* * *

 **february**

He tries to shake off the strange irrational fear filling him as Sarah zips up her jacket, looking like she's trying not to bump into anything as she moves. The van is small and cramped and Chuck has become all too accustomed to it the past few days they've been huddled up inside, tailing members of this rogue spy ring and eventually staking out what they've come to believe is a base of theirs. It should be a simple mission, get in, find out what they're up against, get out, and he's sure Sarah will accomplish it with ease under her cover of a delivery worker. And yet, there's still the tiniest bit of doubt in him about the whole thing, and he's not sure why.  
Or, perhaps he does know, and he's just ignoring it.

It's been a week since Kentucky and the motel room in Indiana, and things are... good. They haven't talked about what happened, and they haven't kissed more which does kinda suck, but they're working just fine all things considered. It's like they've finally overcome the awkwardness they'd had to dive headfirst into when they first got partnered together, that uncertainty over whether or not to act on their feelings, finally surpassed it and become comfortable, at ease, and at least now they know the other has feelings for them. He'd thought, he'd hoped, but now he's certain, god, _Sarah_ has feelings for him, to some degree. She'd kissed him, quite a few times, he'd fallen asleep curled round her in that motel, woken up to find her face resting against his chest, her arms curved round him. It's like a dream.

She stands as she slips in her earpiece, and at her nod, he tests the comm. It reads loud and clear, and she sends him a smile that melts his insides, all big and open.  
They should talk, they need to talk, need to figure out what on earth is going on with them, but if they don't get around to it right now, Chuck thinks he'll be fine. With smiles like that sent his way (and, if the past few nights in the hotel have been any indication, with Sarah sleeping in his arms every night, which just seems to be a recurring thing now), he can cope just fine.

"Okay, so to check..."

She rolls her eyes not unkindly. The anxiety has made him make her go over the plan three times already, and her patience is admittedly stronger than his would be were the roles reversed.  
"I get in, say I was sent here as a courier from Mr. Logan, ask a couple questions, get out." She taps the empty cardboard box they're pretending is precious cargo sent from their man. Mr. Logan is a guy Chuck made up just to get them in, a generic enough name it could be an employee, not so generic as to raise suspicion, and he's quite proud of him, really. The X-Men inspiration is just coincidental, of course.

"Okay, all good. I'll be on the comm, and-"

"And I'll see you in a little while, Chuck."  
She reaches out to grasp his hand, gives his fingers a squeeze, then hauls open the side door and jumps out. With one last grin, she's headed round the corner to the front of the building, and he's still smiling in return when he casts his eyes to the video feed they're piggybacking off from a diner across the street.

"How's it looking?" he asks, eyeing the footage, watching her cross the street.

"No sign of life in there yet," she murmurs in reply, voice muffled through the feed as per usual, spoken as she barely moves her lips in case anyone's watching her walk along the sidewalk. It's standard procedure for this sort of thing- they have no idea what kind of security could be in this facility. That's exactly why she's going in.

He nods though she can't see it, having to agree with her. The place looks dead, still, has done since one of their suspects headed in.  
"Well we know Jefferies went in ten minutes ago, someone's gotta be in there at least."

She hums and he thinks he sees a smirk on the grainy surveillance tape.  
"Okay, going in."

"I got you." he promises.

Though she says nothing more, the mic keeps picking up her movements, the rustling of her clothes, the faint reverberations of her steps across the concrete, the scratching of the cardboard box against her jacket, and he eyes her on the monitor as she steps through the doors. And then- nothing. The comm cuts to white noise. He frowns.

"Sarah? Sarah I think I lost the comm, can you... hear..."

He trails off in horror as he watches the feed. Sarah's stopped just in front of the now-closed doors, inside in the lobby of the building, and someone is behind her, holding her arms to her sides while she struggles in their grasp. She could fight her way out of it, Chuck knows, and he hopes she can, but then some other hand reaches out, presses a flickering light to her neck, and next thing he knows, she's falling. Unidentified hands fly out and catch her roughly, and then she's gone. Dragged out of his sight. Chuck can't see her and he can't hear her.

Some undiscovered instinct kicks in and he's turning to his keyboard whilst his thoughts are pained and miles away, fingers typing rapidly on autopilot as he tries to reactivate the comms, but it's a fruitless effort and crackling dead air keeps filling his ear in a mocking tone.  
He tries another tactic, finding a mainframe in the building and rapidly hacking into the firewall to try and bring up the internal security footage, see if he can see Sarah see if he can see if she's okay, where they took her, where she's gone. There's a brief moment of hope when the screen loads and he thinks he's in, but he's bounced right back out and then, right then, he realizes he's out of options. They've got no communication, he has no idea whereabouts in that building Sarah may be, and he's got no idea how to save her.

It dawns on him then just how wrong they must have been. That building isn't a base, it can't be, not with people able to disarm Sarah that easily, not with cyber security too good even for him. It's the headquarters, it must be, the base of operations for this whole group they've been chasing, and Sarah walked right into it. Right into them. She's the greatest spy Chuck knows and this is the second time in two weeks that she's been in danger, and he's been helpless.

He wants to break down, wants to allow the near-overwhelming panic rising in his chest to swarm him, because he can't go through this again, thinking he's lost her, not so soon, not when they haven't even processed Kentucky yet, not when she fell off a goddamn building. Not when he still hasn't told Sarah how he feels because he's still coming to terms with it himself. But though the image of her being dragged away unconscious and tasered is burned into his eyes, and despite his panic, he somehow pulls out his phone, dials a number. Mercifully, he's put through right away.

"Graham, secure."

His mouth bone-dry suddenly, he swallows.  
"It's Carmichael. I—The mission, Agent Walker, they took her."

"What?"  
Graham sounds as pissed at Chuck as Chuck is at himself and it only manages to add to the anxiety and sickness rising in his chest.

He takes a deep breath, tries to keep it all under control.  
"It's not just a base, Graham, it's _the_ base, it's the ring's headquarters. She walked right in through the front door and right to all of them, and I saw them take her, I-"

"Calm down, Agent Carmichael." Graham says, cold and professional, and Chuck's stomach sinks. This was his last lead, his last means to finding Sarah save from storming the building just by himself. He'd be a fool, a very dead fool, probably, if he did that. But if Graham's no help here, Chuck is lost. "Agent Walker is extremely capable, I'm sure she can handle herself."

Frustration flares in Chuck's chest along with fear over just what Sarah might have to handle. Even the idea turns his stomach.  
"With all due respect, sir, even Sarah can't fight off a whole headquarters full of rogue spies on their own turf." He hears his boss sigh. The man sounds tired, though not at what Chuck is saying, more at Chuck in general. "They cut our comms as soon as the door closed, she's in there blind." he adds, like that might change Graham's mind, or like that might stop the rapid racing of his own heart because he's doing his best not to spiral entirely right now. He can't stop seeing that footage, over and over, from just minutes ago. Sarah falling. Helpless. His incredible wonderful partner, disarmed and hurt in seconds, while he sat comfortably in the van.

"Do you have a plan?" Graham asks, after a beat.

"I tried. They've had ways of fighting back every attempt I've made to infiltrate their security system—it's way too sophisticated for a small operation. I can't turn our comms back on, they're jamming the whole place. I can't see her or find out where she is. I'm-"

" _Agent._ " Graham's tone is enough to get Chuck to shut up, if not enough to calm him. Honestly, it just scares him. The director sighs again. "Give me five minutes, Carmichael. And for the sake of your partner's life, slow down and think. You've proved yourself to be a good agent, you're capable of solving this."

Chuck hangs up, the compliment nothing to him.

His head falls to the little desk set up in the van. The blue light is hurting his eyes after so long cooped up here in the back, but he won't step up and won't drive away, won't leave Sarah alone more than she already is, so he just closes his eyes. He can't leave her without her even knowing what he feels, how he feels about her. His breaths are shallow and shaky and he knows he needs to get his thoughts in line, needs to pull himself together if he's to save Sarah, but he doesn't know how to save Sarah, doesn't have the slightest clue. He's the tech guy of the partnership, who uses tranq guns and algorithms, and he's now got to somehow get into the headquarters of a rogue spy ring and save his partner- the partner who's the muscle side of things between them, the woman he's literally meant to step back and let fight. The person who, last he saw, was unconscious by taser, though perhaps she'd just faked passing out to make things easier.  
But sure, Chuck has been trained, and he can defend himself in hand-to-hand combat, he can make a good shot from a far distance which he still thanks Duck Hunt for, but this requires more than he has. If this group took down Sarah, of all people, then they'd crush him on a good day. And now, with his partner, the woman he loves, taken from him and very likely in danger, Chuck isn't feeling like it's a good day.

But she has nobody else. She really could be in danger, could be hurting, hell she's already been tasered. And he's her only hope.  
The Star Wars reference would make him chuckle normally but now it just makes him ache.

He needs Sarah, he realizes. Needs her in order to work properly, to function right, needs her half of the partnership because without her strength and expertise he's just stuck in a van with no plan of action.  
Unless, needing her _is_ the plan. If he's lost without her, then he's just gotta go get her back. Maybe it can be that simple. He thinks on Graham's words. He's capable of solving this. And somehow, just like that, an idea sparks in his mind.

Maybe storming the building would lead straight to a bullet to the head. But if he went in just like Sarah did...  
His phone blares suddenly, and he sits up, frowns, even while his idea runs fast round his mind.

Graham skips the pleasantries.  
"A tactical assault team are on their way, ETA fifteen minutes. You've got fifty of the best men, Carmichael, use them well."

"I'm going in." he says, barely letting Graham finish his sentence.

"I- what?"

He shrugs, steels himself.  
"I'm going in and I'm finding Sarah right now. Your assault team can help arrest everyone when they get here but for now, my priority is finding my partner."

"Carmichael-"

Rolling his eyes at the Director's objections—first he thinks Chuck is an awesome agent, now he can't do this?- Chuck hangs up.  
"Screw it." Sarah's all that matters.

Hurriedly, he rifles through the stuff scattered round the back of the van, picks up all the tranq darts and pistols he can find, and stuffs them into every pocket he's got. He finds the ankle holster he never uses but Sarah insists he keeps, and stashes a pistol there, finding another piece of velcro stuff Sarah keeps her knives in and tying it through another tranq gun round his calf. If the agents in the base don't search him, this just might work. He pulls on a windbreaker emblazoned with some fake CIA cover company logo (though they went with delivery company for the cover, Chuck thinks he's actually supposedly in a cleaning van but he hasn't paid that much attention), and finds his hardly-used service weapon, slipping that into an inside pocket with a spare magazine and zipping it up. He eyes a bulletproof vest lying on the ground, tossed aside in his quick searches, but decides against it. He doesn't have time.

Checking his watch, and with thirteen minutes or so until the tac team are due, he hops out the van and heads round the corner, hoping this isn't a giant mistake.

Thankfully, he's spared the taser.  
As he'd been hoping for, he's greeted at the door by a fist to the face, and though it hurts like hell he fakes unconsciousness as someone drags him down several twisting hallways, the floor under his back moving from linoleum to scratchy wood to carpet and finally to something very cold. Apparently, the group are just very against visitors, which is all the better for Chuck. The person dragging him sounds pissed, grumbling about strangers walking into their base uninvited, muttering about better pay elsewhere, and Chuck's glad he didn't get a chance to speak and piss this guy off even more because he's sure that wouldn't have gone down well. Besides, he'd counted on this. What better way to get into the heart of the base, to where Sarah may be, than just showing up exactly like she did?

The guy tosses him into a cell, and he waits to hear footsteps retreating before opening his eyes.

"Chuck?" he hears, and sheer relief, similar to that he felt on the hotel roof in Kentucky, washes over him. He sits up to find Sarah sitting across from him in this holding cell, prison cell, he doesn't know. He's surprised enough they'd been put in the same room, but he takes it, gladly, as he looks at her. She's smiling and her expression is a little stunned, and then she starts moving, shuffling along the floor toward him. She looks fine, unharmed, really, and he releases the breath he'd been holding as she raises her hands to his face, checks him over. His jaw might bruise from the punch, he thinks, but he's fine. And she's fine. "What are you doing here?"

He sends her a grin to stop himself from just throwing his arms round her and holding her tight, because he wants to, yes, but they don't have time right now.  
"Saving you."

"By getting yourself thrown in here with me?" The fact that she didn't protest needing saving doesn't go unnoticed to him, and he decides to start this ball rolling. They've got a little under ten minutes before the assault team come in guns blazing, and they need to make their move, soon. Because the moment this building gets stormed for real, their captors will come rushing back to this cell and blame their prisoners for leading the team here, and fire a bullet in both of them for good measure, Chuck's sure.

He tugs open the windbreaker and pulls out his gun, handing it over to her with the extra mag and suppressing a laugh at her happy expression.  
"Have you got any other weapons?" he asks, since there's nothing in this room that would help them.

"They took my gun when they... tasered me," She says the word like it's sickening garbage and he agrees, really. Especially since nobody had swept him for weapons when he'd walked in here. He'd wonder why they'd done so with Sarah, but he can put the pieces together, and it's not pleasant to think about. "But I still have my knives. What about you?"

He smirks gleefully, making a show of tugging up his jeans and showing her both tranq guns strapped to his legs. He's rewarded with the most wonderful laugh, genuine, her head thrown back, and something about the noise makes him freeze. She sounds just like she did in that club, like she did in his arms in her hotel bed, and it's so staggeringly real, and _she's_ so staggeringly real, smiling and laughing in front of him, and he just- he loves her. He almost lost her here for the second time in so many weeks and he knows he cannot go through this again without her knowing oh, just how much she means to him. She must know, have some sort of clue that his feelings stem from more than just Indiana, because he knows from experience that he's not that great at keeping his emotions off his face, and things got a little heated in that club in Ecuador, and, well, looking back he'd fallen for her a long long time ago, but he needs to tell her, outright. Soon.  
They can only get so far without words.

For now, he just smirks at her again, and stands, offering a hand to help her up. She's a little slow and she winces as she stretches her shoulder, and he supposes she's still feeling the effects of the taser and the presumable dragging she also experienced, the thought of which makes Chuck tense with rage all over again. He distracts himself by tucking one tranq pistol into the small of his back and loading the one in his hand up.

"Oh," he says, because he can't believe he's forgotten. "And there's a tac team coming in... seven minutes. So we just need to keep these guys occupied enough to distract them."

Sarah gapes. Yeah, he should've probably have led with that.

The door to their cell only requires a gun butt to the lock and a couple of kicks from Sarah to let it swing free, and they round each side to clear the space with a clinical, refined precision. They're in-sync again once more, so easy it's like breathing.  
The hallways are empty.

Sarah steps out first, crossing the gap where the two corridors meet and jumping forward, gun outstretched, and he follows suit. The hall is silent, not even the faint clicking of keyboard keys or the hum of computers, any sign of life. It makes the hairs on the back of Chuck's neck rise in suspicion, but he keeps going. Another minute more and they've cleared two more hallways and a room without finding a single person, and honestly, Chuck's almost itching to find someone, to let his frustration out on someone, because these people took Sarah, they tasered her, and he just kinda wants to shoot someone, even if it is just with a tranq dart that'll give them a hell of a headache when they wake up. It's the best he can do. It's all he'll do.

Then, they hear a muffled "Hey!" from a few hallways back, and he guesses someone's finally noticed the prisoners have escaped.

"Go time," he whispers, crouching round a corner, gun held tight in his hands. Sarah covers him, faces the other way, aiming for anyone who tries to come past them.

Finally, a bored-looking guy holding a donut and a newspaper swings by, and Chuck merely raises an eyebrow before tranqing him. Another man comes round the corner just as the first's falling to the ground, and Chuck takes him out too. From behind him he hears a shot go off, and he casts a quick glance round to see two men pointing pistols at Sarah, one of them with a bloody knee and a pained expression. She's got this.  
He takes out another two men, and Sarah shoots one more guy in the foot before Chuck takes pity on the three she's holding up and tranqs them all too, and he grabs her hand to swing her round another corner. This place is a maze of corners and corridors, he muses, and he just hopes he's tracing the same path he came to get them back to the lobby, or that he'll somehow end up at some kind of exit, a way out.

Distant shots and the distinctive sound of shattering of glass echo around the building, and he snorts to himself.  
"Tac team sure know how to make an entrance, don't they?"

Sarah chuckles, only to drag them around another corner. Their own shots will have attracted attention now, he knows, and they need to get out of here.  
When they pass a room unoriginally marked _Director_ , though, Chuck pauses, stops to look at it.

"Chuck, we need to-" Sarah says, urgently, but he raises his free hand. There's nobody around here, right now, though there's immediate danger all around them, in this moment they're clear.

"Hold on."

His curiosity peaked, he steps closer to the door, letting go of Sarah's grip. There's no light inside the room, he notes, no sign of life. They were here to get intel in the first place, weren't they? Not today, no, today was supposed to be simple recon, but eventually their goal was to get information on this ring, learn what they know, find their connections. Since Chuck doubts this group will last past today, what with the assault team tearing them to shreds right now, he supposes this is their last chance. Surely the Director of this little ring would have plenty of intel in his office, intel Chuck needs, but intel someone would likely try and protect, destroy, if they could. He needs to get it now.  
He opens the door without thinking.

Two steps into the darkness, the light switches on. He's about to thank Sarah for it when he's slammed into a wall, an arm pressed hard down against his throat and the cool metal of a gun pressed to his temple.

"Now who the hell are you?" The guy holding him murmurs, sounding like a cockney Bond villain. Chuck tries to relax, show he's not a threat, tries to give the impression of not fighting back just like he'd been taught to, but the pressure doesn't ease up. Of course. This whole ring are mostly just rogue spies who were trained exactly as he was, many of them even better, he's sure. They can see through anything he'll do. "Are you the reason my entire organization is being shot to pieces by an assault team, hm?"

If Chuck could speak, he'd point out the ridiculousness of interrogating someone when you're choking them. But then, he's being choked, so he can't speak.

"Let him go." he hears suddenly, and he flicks his eyes to the doorway to see Sarah standing, spine rigidly straight, her gun trained on the man currently cutting off his air. He moves suddenly, spinning Chuck around so his back is pressed to the Director's chest, gun still cold against his head and an arm still hard, if a little lighter, against his throat.

"And who are you?"

She narrows her eyes.  
"I'm his partner. Now let him go or you get a bullet between your eyes."

"Oh, I see, pretty boy," the Director says, scoffing a little. "You get the tranq guns while your girlfriend gets the real bullets. How very modern of you."

Chuck frowns at that ridiculous comment, then casts his eyes downward and sees his tranq gun lying on the ground uselessly where it must've fallen from his hand when the Director attacked. Sighing, Chuck knows his other gun is still tucked into his ankle holster. And unlike Sarah, he doesn't have a knife at his waist, a blade up his sleeve. His options are gone.

"Well come on then, blondie," the guy drones on, more and more irritating and patronizing by the second. "Shoot me."

Chuck's fully expecting the shot, tensing already in anticipation of the loud noise and the blood and the gore. Sarah's stance is tight and sure, practiced, her hands perfectly placed on her gun, trigger already cocked. It'll be a close shot, the Director's head is so near to his own, but he knows Sarah can make it, and has made tighter shots in the past. Even if this will be the first time he's witnessed it. It should scare him, irk him, and it does, he supposes, the idea of the woman he loves taking a life. But it's the only option now—Chuck is being a human shield right now and there's no clear way to shoot the Director non-lethally that wouldn't involve Chuck being shot too. It'll have to be a kill shot. If anyone can make something so close, it's Sarah.  
So he braces himself, looking down to the floor and nodding to her to take it. He takes a deep breath, waits.

But there's just... nothing.  
When he looks back up at Sarah, she's stood completely still, eyes shining, and he's stunned. She can't do it.

"Ahhh, so she really is your girlfriend, huh?" Chuck splutters a little as he's squeezed tight by the guy in a very unfriendly move, the crook of his elbow pressing down right on his throat. The Director gestures at Sarah. "Can't take the shot? Shame. For a second there I wondered why a spy like you would be with a guy like this, but now I see you're no spy at all. Disappointing, guys, really. I'll tell you what, change of plans."

The rage in Chuck's stomach at this ignorant guy couldn't really get any more intense, but then the Director turns his gun on Sarah and it skyrockets. He's already seen her tasered today, dragged away unconscious, probably thrown into the cell just like he was, he himself is being choked right now, and he's already pissed enough at this whole operation for ruining what should've been a simple mission. So, more or less staring down the gun facing his partner just like the Director is behind him, makes his hands clench in fury. It's like he's the one holding the gun.

"Yeah, I'll take you out first, love, then the pretty boy here. A real Romeo and Juliet story for the ages."  
Chuck would point out it's nothing at all like Romeo and Juliet but at that moment the Director cocks the gun and, well, that's just the final straw.

He lunges, raising one hand to pull against the arm held to his neck, and he must catch the Director off guard because the guy's arm just falls straight down, and with his other hand Chuck reaches, grabs for the gun, presses it up and to the ceiling as Sarah dives out the way. The Director yells, sounding pissed, and Chuck can't help but smirk as he steps forward and reaches his other hand up to hold the gun in both. A shot fires up but it's to the sky, bits of ceiling tile scatter onto the floor as a result, and when he kicks one leg back the blow lands; the man falls to his knees while Chuck tightens his grip on the gun. Grabbing it, he spins round, and aims the barrel squarely at the Director's forehead, widens his stance.  
He breathes, heavily, pulling air in through his teeth and curling his finger round the trigger, brushing against the cool slip of metal. It would be so easy.

"Chuck, you don't have to-"

Her voice is muffled as it slips through his headspace. He hears it, recognizes it, but it doesn't quite click.

"Sarah, he-"

" _Chuck_."  
Her voice cuts sharply through to him, suddenly, and she sounds a little pained, a little saddened, and after others have caused her so much pain today, he realizes he can't add to it, he can't. Horror doesn't slip in as he realizes what he's doing, pointing a gun at a man's forehead while he's unarmed, defenceless, no, all Chuck feels is just cool realization that if he did pull the trigger, the Director would deserve it.

The horror is in the fact that he knows that. One hundred percent.

He relaxes his stance, clicks the safety back on.  
"I don't like guns." he says, and the Director snorts derisively from his position on the floor. "Too messy."

Dipping to the floor, he scoops up his tranq gun, still lying there in the same spot despite the fight, and fires a twilight dart into the Director's shoulder. After a very brief protest, he falls forward, snoring in seconds. He won't even remember he saw them.

When Chuck lets out the breath he's been holding, an exhaustion runs over him, the crash from high adrenaline that's been the only thing getting him through this. There's more noise from outside this office, sirens and gunshots and yells, but he turns round and barely sees or hears anything that isn't Sarah. She runs her hands over her face and then she's looking at him, right at him, open and vulnerable and he sees the pain she just went through is just as bad as the agony he felt stuck in that van with no way to solve things, but he wonders if this time, he caused it.

"He was going to kill you." he says, and she raises an eyebrow.

"He was going to kill _you_." She folds her arms across her stomach, looks down at the man on the floor. "You almost shot him. But you didn't."

He shakes his head. She doesn't know about his Red Test, he's never told her, but as he's noted before, he's never killed anyone on a mission with her and she knows how much more comfortable he was when he got a tranq gun. He's not a violent man. He hates guns. But the Director had come so close to killing Sarah, making Chuck watch like he was the shooter, and Chuck could've- Well, like he'd thought, it would have just been so easy.

She moves toward him, then, suddenly, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close, and he expects a short curt hug or maybe one of their nicer longer slower ones but instead, she pulls back, looks at him once more, and presses her lips to his.  
It's quick and shallow but it conveys all she must need it to say, all he wants it to say in return, and it's aching and burning and soothing at the same time as she cradles his head and he just holds her waist and goes along with it until she feels she needs to stop.

"We should keep moving," she murmurs against his lips, and he kisses her again slowly before he pulls back and replies,

"Yeah."

* * *

They make it to the lobby ten minutes later after taking out a few stragglers, the last hope of the rebels- the Star Wars reference does make him chuckle this time until he remembers he's fighting the rebels in this case which kinda makes him a stormtrooper and not Han, which sucks- and finally meeting up with some of the tac team, who assure them they'll continue clearing the building.

"The man unconscious in his office with a tranq dart in his shoulder, he's the Director." Chuck says to the tac guy who's apparently in charge. "Keep an eye on him, he could be useful for intel, but he'll put up a fight once he wakes up."

"Yes sir."  
The guy looks surprisingly unfazed by the news even Chuck thinks is a bit odd, and heads away.

Running a hand through his hair and trying to process the last half hour, Chuck takes a quick look over at Sarah, where she's chatting with another officer about something or other, he doesn't know. But she's there with a pleasant smile as she helps coordinate things and she's fine and unharmed and well and that's all that matters to him right now.

A bunch more vehicles pull up outside, some looking like local law enforcement, or at least CIA undercover as local law enforcement, and some basically in tanks and making no effort to blend in, so, that's definitely the CIA. There's even a few vans from local news stations, somehow, and it's that that gets Chuck pulling out his phone and calling his boss though he's often so loath to do so. He leaves the reports to Sarah, mostly, but he'll take the hit today.

"Agent Carmichael, please don't tell me your plan actually worked." Graham says, skipping protocol. Chuck frowns, clears his throat.

"Uhm. Carmichael, secure, uh yes sir it did?" He's confused right now, at the flippancy over the rules, for one, but also Graham's tone. It's almost amused, which definitely isn't what he'd expected after calling the guy earlier, hapless and lost and then hanging up on him.

But no, instead of mentioning any of that, reprimanding him, Graham actually chuckles. Briefly, quickly, disbelievingly, but still, he laughs.  
"How you and Walker survive, I have no idea. Your field proficiency is impressive, Carmichael, you've certainly proved wrong anyone who doubted your suitability as an agent. You have a good future with the agency."

Chuck frowns at the random praise, plucked from obscurity after all this time. Scratching his head, he moves on.  
"Thank you, I guess? I, um, I was just calling to say the mission is over, we took down the headquarters and the ring's Director, myself and Agent Walker are safe. But there's some news vans outside with what might be local LEOs."

"I think you and Agent Walker have done plenty on this mission already," Graham says, still casual. "You can get out of there and leave it to the team. File your reports within forty-eight hours."

Chuck furrows his brow, confused again.  
"Forty-eight, shouldn't that be twent-"

"Before I change my mind, Agent."

The guy hangs up before Chuck can say anymore, and shaking his head, he walks over to where Sarah's now just standing by herself, watching him intently.

"C'mon," he says, slipping his hand into hers with aching familiarity despite all the people still around. Her touch is warm, anchoring, as he runs his thumb over her knuckles and wonders if he imagines the slight hitch of her breath. "Graham says we can leave."

She raises an eyebrow. Somehow, it just makes her look cute.  
"Really?"

"Yup. And he gave us an extra twenty-four hours to file our reports."

" _Graham_ did?" She shakes her head when he nods in confirmation, and he only grins back at her in response. She's as confused as he is, but like him, she'll clearly take the reprieve. "Wow, he really likes you,"

Chuck frowns even as he laughs at that, as they make their way out of the lobby.  
"Yeah, I doubt that," After all, Sarah's the star agent, he knows that much.

By his side, though, she just shrugs.  
"I don't know, he's always happy with your work in our debriefings, and he tells you that. And he had a lot of faith in you when he partnered us up."

Though it is weird, Chuck just mulls it over for a moment more before letting the thought go. He's got more pressing matters than their boss, right now, like Sarah. She's always more of a priority than anything else related to work, now.

They find a side exit and skip the hubbub up front, and he hails a cab once they get outside, happily leaving the van for the agents on the scene to deal with, crappy blue light and all. Sarah sits with her side pressed up against his on the whole journey back to their rather nice hotel across town. At least, he presumes it's rather nice, he's hardly had a chance to see it at all, having spent most nights either chasing people or staking out that damned building, and the nights they did make it back, he and Sarah had just tumbled into bed already passed out before their faces hit the pillow, gravitating toward each other in the night and waking all tangled up.

He squeezes her hand, still in his. Sarah. She's okay. He's okay. The mission was a success even if he did almost get choked and if Sarah got hit by a taser. They never did find out who exactly it was that did that to her, but Chuck rather hopes it was one of the unlucky people to get shot by the tac team, a little morbid as that may be.

"You okay?" he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her hair as the cab slows down. She nods against him before slipping her hand from his and stepping out of the car whilst he pays the driver.  
They walk through the lobby (it turns out it is nice, stylish, modern, clean) and up to their room in easy appreciative silence, but he's all too aware that he still has something to say tonight, something to tell her. Because she needs to know, after today, after he was about to kill someone for almost hurting her, after everything, after months of working with her and feeling what he feels he just, he has to tell her, before she gets hurt again, or before he does, which must be coming soon because he's far too clumsy to have been a spy this long and not been captured or seriously injured yet.

The hotel room door clicks shut behind him.

"Hey, uh, can we talk? I, uh, there's something I wanna tell you." Sarah looks a little surprised but nods anyway, moving to sit on the edge of the bed right away and fiddling with her hands. Chuck drags up a chair and sits more or less in front of her, leaning forward. It's like when he'd split his knuckle in LA and she'd sat in front of him, patching him up, only now it's reversed and the only patching up will be on the emotional side. Because they need to figure this out already. He takes a deep breath. "You keep almost dying and I don't know what to do about it."

Well. He could've worded that better.

"What?"

He huffs a breath, tries again.  
"I've never been as scared as I have been these past weeks. First in Kentucky with you falling off the roof and now tonight when you got taken and then with the Director turning the gun on you, I- It's like you keep getting hurt, or almost killed, and I should be able to stop that because I'm your partner, but I can't."

"Chuck, it's part of the job, it's expected, and it's not your fault." She reaches out the short distance between them and takes his hand in hers, and though he should be pushing her away so he can get this out already, her touch is such a comfort it helps him. "Is this to do with what Ellie said, about going home?" she asks, voice soft and reassuring despite the probing question, and he closes his eyes to gather his thoughts.

Ah, his sister, his wonderful wonderful sister, who's about as subtle as a gun. She'd finally written back to his rambling email the other week, blaming surprise and just having so much to say for the length of time it took her to reply. Though she'd been conversational, happy, and talked about Devon and Morgan and various Burbank antics, frankly, she'd mostly talked about Sarah and asked when he was going to ask her out. 'Those photos are so cute! You clearly really like her, Chuck.' she'd said, obviously completely unaware that Sarah would be reading the reply too, anxiously waiting to see how Ellie handled his holiday absence.  
That had been awkward enough, but Ellie had also been all too happy to say that Chuck missing the holidays was completely fine, because he could simply come home another time, and he'd felt like the world's crappiest brother yet again. Because with him, with this job, there's never a guarantee of a next time, of another opportunity, there's never any certain chance you'll get to see anyone you love ever again. That Ellie had even found a way to work Sarah into it as well, saying that she and Devon would love to meet her, and she could come with Chuck next time he comes home, well that just made things even worse. Firstly because Sarah had flushed red and hurriedly scrolled down more, but also because really, that's something Chuck wants. He wants that connection between his worlds, he wants Ellie and Sarah to meet, and he knows that will quite likely never happen.

He knows in the time since he'd read them that he's been unable to get his sister's words quite out of his head, and he guesses now, with her asking, Sarah might also be struggling to. But tonight, that's not the issue. Their lives are dangerous, uncertain. That's why Sarah and Ellie will probably never meet. That's why he has to tell Sarah how he feels. There's no guarantee of a tomorrow.

Shaking his head, he squeezes her hand, still in his.  
"No, I- Sorta, but not like, directly. I already know I'm not gonna get home for a long time or maybe not at all, it's okay, and I know this job is dangerous, but... I guess it was more about the other things she said. About… us." Sarah's eyes widen a little in acknowledgement and he keeps going. "She was right, but I said before, we're not like normal spies. And we're not, and you know it. Our... our thing, it's the reason we work so well together, but tonight, Sarah, god I was _useless_ because I was so worried about you. And... and then I was about to kill someone because he almost shot you, and that's not me, you know that's not me. You- you make me go a little bit crazy."

She doesn't seem to know what to say and he doesn't blame her, but instead she lifts his hand up and kisses it, a feather-light brush of her lips against his knuckles that makes his heart flutter, trip over itself in love.

"See, like that." He tugs on her fingers and she looks up at him, questioning and a little surprised, and he only hopes she can see the sincerity in his eyes. "Do you have any idea what that makes me feel?" She blinks. "I have... such strong feelings for you, Sarah, you are... You're just, you're everything to me. And that's not supposed to happen between us, and I-I'm gonna get you hurt someday, or worse, hurt someone else, because I'm too in love with you to properly distance myself from a mission."  
Okay, so he said that.

Sarah's eyes are just wide, staring into his in shock. She must've known how he'd felt, must have, but even he's a little surprised he managed to get it into words in such a coherent way. But he guesses that's how simple it is. He loves her, and he shouldn't.

"You love me?" she asks, voice breathy. He nods, not moving, not even blinking. "You saved me today because you love me?" She keeps saying it like she can't quite believe it.

Swallowing, he dips his head.  
"Well, yeah, but I-"

She leaps forward, jumping off the bed and kneeling lower to his level, and her hand pressed over his mouth suddenly keeps him from continuing.  
"You don't need distance, Chuck. If you went into that building today, at first with no backup and only your own weapons, and you helped take down the whole ring including the Director, because you love me, what's the problem in that?"

He pulls her hand down, insistent. Ordinarily he'd never argue with her on this, but she wasn't there. She didn't see how weak he was in that van, thinking the worst, how lost he was. Any and all training he'd had, had just… disappeared. Because she was in trouble. And that's not just bad for their jobs, but that endangered her. That's not safe. He might've gotten his crap together eventually, but next time, he might not have the luxury of freaking out in the van. Next time, his crazy plan might not work. Next time he could be too late. He needs focus.  
"They could've just killed me, and they could've just killed you. I almost killed a man."

"I know. And that—I'm sorry about that," she says, shaking her head. He won't bring up her hesitation today, not now, not when it would only make things even more confusing between them. But they both know it happened; she was supposed to shoot the Director, and she didn't. She couldn't. They're both in deep here. Her gaze is still insistent, though, locked on his. "But you stopped, you put down your gun when I asked you to."

He did, he guesses. Maybe he stopped because he loves her. But she shouldn't have had to stop him in the first place, and he never wants to get to the point where she couldn't snap him out of it. And he doesn't think she wants him too, either, after all she'd suggested the tranq gun, she'd stopped today, and though it could've been for their job, he doesn't think that was it. To take a life, in cold blood, that's just not Chuck, and they both know it. And yet, he almost did exactly that.  
"It still almost happened. We got lucky today, that's all, it could go to hell next time just as easily."

"Chuck Bartowski," she says, and he just about stops himself from gaping at her using his full name like that, harking him right back to another hotel room, kisses in an elevator. She's never said it completely since then, she's almost gotten close but stopped abruptly, or changed the conversation entirely, and hearing it now makes his head spin. "I can't think of any way that you being in love with me could be a bad thing."

She sounds so happy his heart starts to race quicker despite the insistence still on his tongue. He wonders again why he's protesting this, god, she really does sound so happy, but one thought of facing down the gun in the Director's hand, aimed at Sarah, and Chuck remembers. But she's smiling, right in front of him. That shot was never fired. She's here. And he loves her more than anything he's ever known.  
Even he can only argue with her for so long.

"It's dangerous," he warns. So, so dangerous. But, god, he would want it, want her.

She nods just a little, licks her lips. His eyes are drawn to them, right away.  
"I know. Is it worth it?" Is _she_ worth it?

"Always."  
It's the easiest answer he's ever given in his life.

And just like that, he can argue no more. There could be risk, sure, but there's always risk in their job, that's just a fact. And he's resisted for so long, since last summer, way back, and he just can't fight this anymore. And she doesn't want to either, it seems. Maybe the job will get the better of them, someday. Maybe he'll take too long when she's in danger and it'll all go to hell. But he wants her more than that, he loves her more than to push her away on a thousand what-ifs, a thousand possibilities. He only wants one. Her.

She laughs, then tugs on his hand and stands up, moving him up with her. She sends him a smile and leans into him, and he finds himself suddenly not quite sure if the past ten minutes really happened, or if he's imagined them all entirely.  
This is happening. Them. It's really happening, and she knows he loves her, and it's dangerous and they shouldn't, but oh, he wants to, and she wants to, and it's happening.

When she kisses him, her lips are soft and determined against his, her tongue slipping into his mouth and tracing every corner, and he has not so vague memories of being slammed against a door while she did this before, but this time, the edges are softer, and the intensity is far more, somehow, because they know each other now, he loves her now.  
"And just so you know," she mumbles against his mouth, punctuating every other word with a kiss. "I have... very, very strong feelings for you too, Chuck. Ever since we met, you- I..." She shakes her head as she trails off, unable to put it into words, and he just kisses her again, stepping back to press her into the bed and follow after her because his knees have just given way. She feels the same way. God, he could never have imagined back then, stepping up to that bar, turning to her as she spoke, that he'd be here all these months later, beyond happy, beyond lost in her. Like her, it leaves him a little lost for words.

He pulls back, kisses her neck, her jaw, trails his lips to her collarbone where last week's bruise has only just faded, whispers I-Love-Yous against her skin as he slips off her jacket, tugs up her shirt, lifts her in his arms and strokes her skin and rests her gently farther up the bed. She pulls off his own clothes slowly, distractedly, stopping every few inches his shirt's been pulled up to kiss him more intensely, to suck on his lip or tease his mouth or play with his hair, and he'd be more impatient and annoyed but it just makes him love her more. It's a new little quirk, appreciative, funny, and he wants only to learn more of them, more of her.

When his shirt's finally off and his pants too, he eases off her jeans and takes a moment to breathe in the sight of her lying below him, looking up at him, eyes a little questioning at the pause but mainly open and patient. She's breathless and warm, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips, her throat bobbing as she gulps in air, and she's smiling, just a little, at him.

"I love you," he murmurs, shaking his head, still disbelieving that this is happening again at all, then curls his fingers round hers and presses a kiss to her lips. Then to her neck, then her chest, then the curve of her stomach, the dip round her waist, her thighs. He unclasps her bra and throws it aside, pulls her underwear down, slowly, lazily, languidly, kissing her somewhere the whole time, moving his lips all over her and savouring the taste of her skin, the fluttering of her muscles beneath him, the shudders of her breaths.

It feels like he's worshipping her, and then, he realizes as he trails his lips even lower, he is.

She quakes and trembles beneath him soon enough, a strangled cry he longs to hear over and over again slipping through her teeth with a ragged breath, and then she drags him up for a kiss so long and slow and indulgent he loses all track of time, all thought, all feeling, just focusing on her and her taste and her heat and her mouth. Until she begins to slips his boxers off and makes him gasp all over again.

He hates having to slip away, but he manages it, if only by grasping her shoulders to push her away and pull her lips from his, with a groan.  
"Don't move," he mumbles as he stumbles off the bed and hops over to his suitcase tossed in the corner. "Don't move, don't breathe, don't move." She raises her hands in acceptant surrender.

He wouldn't like to say he's been carrying the condoms just in case, because that implies some sort of expectation that this would happen, and honestly, he was never sure it would again, never sure they'd get this close. But it's always been a thought, just in the back of his mind. Maybe.  
He grabs them out the suitcase and leaps back over to Sarah, tossing them beside the bed and crawling back over her to steal her lips again.

"Mmmm, hi," he murmurs against her mouth when she pulls back, runs a hand through his hair.

"Hi," she says back, just as close, and he wants to point out they did that last time, too, but then her hands are dancing round his waist again and then she's sliding his boxers off and he suddenly can't think anymore, can't breathe. God, she must want to kill him.  
He'd let her.

He's breathless from her touch by the time he stops her, grabs a condom, parting from her just long enough to deal with it and roll her over, before leaning back down to her again, and she wraps her legs round his waist seemingly on instinct as she pulls him in with a moan.  
It's less frantic this time, less desperate, less like their time is limited, because, oh yeah, it isn't now. Now they have all the time in the world, all the endless future, even if they don't know how long that will be, to love together, learn together, discover what can be between them. He doesn't have to leave, and she doesn't have to run. They have each other here now.

But, it's still overwhelming, drowning. She pulls him in with every move of his hips, dragging him forward, deeper. He groans into her ear and she moans in reply and he's sure just the sound could drive him mad. She tugs on his hair, pulling his mouth to hers and demanding kisses as she keeps meeting his hips, keeps gasping and whimpering against him. They roll across the sheets, Sarah taking the lead, then him, then her again, time ebbing away, everything falling, everything but her.  
He's hot, skin thick with perspiration and mind lost and only on her, entirely on her, so focused so narrowed so so out of it when she eventually cries out and falls apart again, and he follows her slowly, indulgently, calling out her name as she shakes in his arms.

Senses return one by one, slowly and disorienting, and Chuck thinks he's never been that lost in someone before, never been in such an impenetrable bubble, never had his mind that wrapped up in just one person so intensely. Emerging from it is strange and cold, like coming to the surface after being underwater for days, but Sarah's there, still there, her breath loud in his ear and her arms tight round him, and the odd sensation ebbs away.  
"I love you," he whispers again, lips brushing her neck, and he sort of expects that to be it, anticipates the end and the sleep and the waking up at 3am for round two as happened last time, and he'd be fine with that, he thinks, but Sarah runs a hand through his hair and pushes him backwards to lie fully on the mattress. She crawls up him, half-leaning on his side, her skin slick against his. He suppresses a groan at the feel of her, the sight of her, cheeks flushed, hair mussed, perfect as ever.

She leans down to kiss him, then pulls back, keeping her lips brushing his as she speaks.  
"I- Me too." She doesn't say it quite the same way, but he doesn't care, doesn't mind one little bit. Not when they've just shared what they have, more intimate and filled with love than any particular words could ever be. It makes his heart race again.

Their lips meet, and eventually their hips do too, and he willingly loses himself, entirely, to her once more.

* * *

 **a/n 2:** Ahhh, these idiots. Sorry if the more adult stuff returning was a shock or too much for anyone, I didn't wanna warn you at the beginning and spoil all of it. But I could hardly leave them suffering any longer; I love to shove danger and awkwardness at them, but in the end, these two are always gonna find each other. And hey, if it comes with a lil Versus the Colonel reference too then it's all the more fun, heh.  
I really really hope you all enjoyed this—if you did, please let me know and leave a review! I love them so. Next week, another mission, plus an old friend! And maybe more danger and awkwardness. Just for the fun of it.

-Kiera :)


	9. Venezuela

**summary:** On his last night home in LA before becoming a field agent, Chuck finds himself begrudgingly dragged to a nightclub, all thanks to Morgan. But what he meets there, or rather, who he meets there, is about to change his life, and his future spy career, in ways he can't possibly imagine. Partnered up, Chuck and Sarah have to navigate the spy life, missions, their memories of that fateful night, and a whole lot of feelings. AU.

 **a/n:** Thanks, as ever, for your awesome awesome responses to this fic, and last chapter. I mean it when I say you all rock. This next one's a big one, with my own twists on a couple moments from the show and how they'd fit into this universe, plus someone who always makes stuff fun, so I'll see you at the end. I may have some 'splainin to do.  
 **disclaimer:** I don't own Chuck, lazy mornings, beaches, or vans (so many vans). Also, I've been writing summary instead of disclaimer here for weeks without realizing and nobody mentioned it! Lesson learned, don't upload sleepy, people.

* * *

 **march**

It's midway through their first week off together that he wakes in the mid morning to find Sarah sat on the edge of the bed, speaking softly into her cell phone. Chuck thinks she's trying not to wake him, which is sweet. It hasn't worked, of course, since he's awake, but then he always seems to stir when he wakes up to no longer find his partner's warmth by his side. Spy habits die incredibly hard, he guesses.

"You know I'd have to clear it with Graham," Sarah murmurs, and he sits up slowly, the sleepy haze in his head fading and the sheets falling from his bare chest to his lap. Though she can't see him she'll know he's awake by now, her own spy habits, but he merely sits silently and looks around his bedroom to occupy himself as she keeps speaking to whoever she's talking to. She sounds fairly relaxed, controlled, but awake, and evidently she's discussing business.

Instead of interrupting, he casts his gaze to her suitcase, lying flat on the floor by his closet, right next to his own bag. He hasn't really asked, but the past three missions, and this whole week, she's just headed home with him, and he thinks she might just have moved in without either of them really noticing. Well, she's moved in via a suitcase, the most any spy can ever make anything a home. But after their raid at the opera in Vienna she'd hung her fancy red dress up next to his suit, after their mission in the Caribbean she'd tossed her bikini onto an empty shelf. Her stuff is just slipping into his life, into the home he barely uses but he feels so much more comfortable in with her, and frankly, he loves it. He loves her.  
It's been six weeks since the ring base mission, and he can't remember having everything in his life just fit so well before.

First, he'd managed to slip another shorter email to Ellie, more pictures included, desperate not to let so many months go by without speaking to her properly again. It'd been fun, light, normal, like he was just a brother living all the way across the country from his sister and telling her about his okay-yes-we're-dating-now girlfriend. It had been perfect.  
And their missions have gone well too, more than well, in fact, closing fast and clean and safe with no casualties, no slip-ups; their last wrapped so neatly that Graham had seen it fit to award them a week off. Chuck presumes he'd intended they spend it separately, but what the Director doesn't know won't hurt him.

And, on top of all that, Chuck thinks, on top of all that goodness, he's got Sarah. He loves her, and for some reason she loves him too. She still hasn't said it yet, not in so many words, but he doesn't mind, and oh, he knows she loves him. He knows.

"And you'd have to work with my partner," Sarah continues, and with his curiosity winning out, along with his sentimental wandering thoughts which have left him so longing for her, Chuck shuffles nearer the side of the bed she's sat on. Her bare back is all he can see, her skin glowing in the low yellow light. When he reaches her, he runs his hands from her shoulders down to her arms, slow sweeps across her smooth warm skin, and dips to plant a little kiss to her neck, just waiting. He'll wait for her, he'll always wait for her. "Well, you'll know him when you meet him. Yes, _him_ , Carina."

At that, his eyebrows raise a little, interest peaked even more. It's impossible for him to forget that night, god, so long ago, with Sarah's supermodel friends who he'd later learned were her former teammates, the once-CAT Squad. From what she's told him, scattered pieces mid-mission or on off-nights lying lazily on his couch with his head in her lap as they listen to music or watch a movie (he loves those nights), she's closest still to Carina. Her distrust of Zondra and just lack of commonality with the other woman he never met, Amy, simply led the two of them to become closer. And now Carina, a DEA agent, wants to work with them, apparently. So that's a little complicated inter-agency mission, then.

"I'll speak to Graham, like I said, and I'll call you next week. No, I've got the week off- Carina, I-" Sarah sighs, sliding her phone shut. "She hung up on me."

"G'morning," he murmurs, moving his head from its resting place on her shoulder, turning to press a kiss to her cheek.

"Hey," she replies, voice just as low and relaxed, and he feels her hand curve round to brush his neck, hold the back of his head briefly, before she lets go and shuffles back to face him.

"What'd Carina want?"

She closes her eyes, not sleepily, but tense, annoyed.  
"My help on a mission. Or, our help. But it's in two days and we'd need Graham to sign off on it and," She pokes his shoulder. "We still have four days off."

He frowns at that.  
"Yeah, we do, but baby, if she needs help-"

"She'll be fine. She wants my help, our help, she doesn't need it."  
Even as she says the words he sees her chew on her lip, and he knows she doesn't believe what she's telling him. She wants to help her friend, and after everything Sarah's done for him, he owes her much more than just one mission with an old pal. But it's something.

"Sarah." he prods, voice light and teasing and a little sing-song-like. He can't help it with her, things are just that easy, that impossibly perfect sometimes.

"I know, I'll call Graham." She rubs her forehead.

"I'll put some clothes on," he offers, shifting away, only to have her reach out and tug on his arm.

"Not... quite yet. We wouldn't leave right away, would we?"  
How her voice can purr quite so perfectly, he's not sure, but he loves it, and frankly, it very very much turns him on. He sees her smirk, watches her key in Graham's number, and five minutes and some explaining to the Director later, watches her hang up.

She crawls over to him, slips onto his lap with a smirk, and just like that, he's in no rush whatsoever.

* * *

It may be a cold March in DC, but Venezuela is hot, sticky, and he slips his shades on as they step out of the jet into a wave of heat. Sarah's a couple steps ahead, hopping down the stairs the comfortable way only a seasoned spy could ever achieve, wearing shorts and a tight little t-shirt and showing absolutely no sign of the heat getting to her. Chuck's in shorts and a t-shirt too, but they're clinging to him already in the bright sun, so much so he thinks they'd probably be better used for swimming in. With a grunt, he realizes he has to accept he's adjusted to DC winter weather, finally. Ellie would be disgusted, and he feels pretty grossed out too.

He shifts his cap on his head, pulling the back down over the curls trying to spring their way to victory.  
"Where's the meet?" he calls out as he reaches the bottom of the steps. Sarah apparently finally notices he's a good 20ft behind, turning round with a smile and tightening her ponytail.

"At the beach across from here," she hollers back, waiting for him to catch up before looping her arm around his and carrying on. Of course, supermodel spies and beaches, why didn't he combine those in his head before now? A brief vision of Sarah running along the sand in a bikini fills his head until he realizes it's not a vision at all, but a memory. That mission in the Caribbean came with a couple hours off and they'd definitely spent them well.

"So just to check," he says, even though he'd asked the question three times on the flight down here. "Carina doesn't know I'm your partner."

"Nope."

"And she doesn't know this, because..."

Sarah smirks knowingly.  
"Carina's... different. She likes to improvise. In the CAT Squad she pulled one too many things over on me, so this time around I've got a bonus. You." She nudges her hip against his. It's an adorable move.

"The guy she sorta met once in a club last summer and has no reason to remember, right." He chuckles, but Sarah just shrugs.

"Oh no, she'll remember you."  
She winks, and he frowns a little in confusion. He can't think of any reason as to why Carina would remember him at all, he was just a little blip in her night that time; if anything, she'd remember Morgan since she apparently struck out with him in that club. She wouldn't remember Chuck, unless...

"Hold on- Wait, she knows we slept together then?!"  
His voice is perhaps a little loud considering they're now walking onto the public road and no longer strolling across the private airfield, but he thinks it's justified. Besides, the little beach ahead is pretty quiet, so not too many people should have heard him. He guesses. Hopes.

Sarah turns to him, pulling a face like he should've known that all along although he can't figure out why.  
"What? You told Ellie."

"I hardly had a choice, you were in the hotel room with me. And Ellie's not Carina- my sister and your friend are very very different people from what I've gathered, Sarah. I mean apart from if maybe Carina..." It dawns on him. " _No_."

"What?"  
When her cheeks flush and she avoids his gaze, he knows he's got it.

He gasps, loudly, for dramatic effect.  
"She guessed."

Folding her arms, Sarah narrows her eyes, attempts to throw him off the scent.  
"No, she..."

He tugs her closer, looping his arms round her waist even as she trails off and looks up at him, unamused. Or at least, she clearly tries to look like she's unamused, but she completely fails, badly suppressing a smirk, and the whole sight of her is really cute.  
"Uh-uh," he says, smirking. "Sarah Walker, I just rocked your world so hard that day that your friend didn't even have to ask what happened with us, she could just guess."

She blinks, again, trying to look unimpressed and bored.  
"You're right. She could just guess." Though she's robbed the moment of any sense of victory, he grins, feeling his nose crinkle that way it only ever does with her now, feeling the stretch of his lips and seeing Sarah's composure crack at the same time, grin breaking through. She swats his chest. "Shut up. It's a good thing I like you."

"Mmm," He giggles. "And I like you. Very, very much."

The air pauses, holds as it always does, heat and sand suspended, like time is just waiting for him to move in before it can resume again.  
He'll never get over this, these quiet moments. Get over her. And he never wants to.

With a smile that will never fail to melt him more than even the heat of the Venezuelan sun, she sways into him, slips her own arms round his neck and leans in as he pulls her closer and presses his lips to hers. He can feel her smile into the kiss like she so often does, reminding him she's so frequently happy with him it makes his heart sing, and he just smiles right back. He's about to deepen it, cup her head and tilt her mouth up to him, when they're so rudely interrupted.

"Chuck?" says a outraged, stunned voice he's sure they both recognize, and they slip away from each other, if regrettably. "Your partner is frickin' _Chuck_? From the club?!"

They turn to see Carina standing just a few feet away, frowning, confused, arms folded and sporting considerably less glitter than she had when Chuck had last seen her, but looking more or less the same otherwise. He thinks. Honestly, it was a different CAT Squad member who'd held his attention that night.

When that very person pulls out of his arms suddenly, though, he snaps out of his memories and feels as Sarah instead slides one arm round his waist, resting her hip more or less against his. It's warm and comfortable and he also feels strangely couple-like right now in this scenario, and it's an oddly heartwarming sensation.

"Carina, I'd like you to meet my partner, Charles Carmichael. Chuck, this is Carina Miller."

He puts on his best friendly grin.  
"It's gr-"

"What, so he's Chuck to you but Charles to me?" Carina says, ignoring him completely and staring Sarah down.

"Exactly."  
Sarah's voice is surprisingly tense, words spoken through gritted teeth.

"Mind telling me why the hell that is?"

"Because he's my partner."

Remarkable, Chuck can't help but think. It's like he's not even here at all. But he decidedly is, and so he clears his throat awkwardly, interrupts.

"Uh, Sarah, Carina, as nice as this is out here by the beach and all, I'm pretty sure we've still got a location to stake out and a mission to do, so let's-"

"Nope, no mission, not happening." Carina says, at least finally admitting he's even in the same area and addressing him.

Sarah slips away from him at her words, crossing her arms to mimic her friend's and scowling.  
"Why not? He's a qualified agent and an excellent partner, he can-"

"I'm sure he is, blondie, but I can tell just by looking at you two, you're never gonna go with my plan." Sarah frowns, Chuck too, and Carina raises her eyebrows in a expression that implies something is obvious, they just don't know what. She rolls her eyes. "He's the bait."

* * *

"You're not gonna go through with it." Carina says, for the fifth time in the past half hour. She's been arguing with them ever since the beach, even on the walk away from it, even during the cab ride across town, even now as they sit cooped up in a van surrounded by monitors displaying grainy surveillance of the run-down looking building across the street. It's the bad guy's base, the one Chuck is meant to walk into for this mission. But apparently, that's not going to happen.

He briefly pulls his head from his hands to look up at Carina, who's still scowling at Sarah. The two of them had argued all the way here until Carina had shoved a folder into his partner's hand and she'd fallen fairly silent.

"I told you, I can handle it." he repeats, the second time in five minutes.

Carina shakes her head, yet again.  
"You haven't been chasing Jones for months now with no luck, you don't know what he's like."

"Yeah? So? I've been trained, I can cope." He can more than cope, actually, but he thinks arrogance won't get him anywhere here. "You said yourself, I need to be in an hour at most before I'll have enough evidence and you can come in and arrest him. But just, remind me again why you even need our help with this?"

Sarah stays quiet in her seat next to him, and a little worry sparks in Chuck's chest, but he hopes it's just her friend's stubbornness getting her down as opposed to anything more.

Carina sighs, looking uncharacteristically awkward for just a second, before she shifts in her chair, flips her hair over her shoulder.  
"I had Jones in my sights in Morocco, and I lost him. The DEA dropped the case for lack of evidence and said I screwed the pooch. Taking the case to another agency was the only way to go about it and Sarah was my last hope. But you and her, Chuckie?" She points between the two of them, shakes her head once more. "You're way too compromised for her to let you go in alone."

He scoffs.  
"We are not compromised, Carina," That's a complete lie, one he's not even sure why he's trying to sell since Carina caught them making out by the beach. But lie or not, like he's worked out before, him and Sarah being compromised works in their favor on missions, they go the extra mile. They work better when there's something to lose. They always have. "I'll have you know we're Graham's top team. Our record is spotless and we've been working together since September, so I think I'll be fine. Sarah, could you hand me that file?"

When he turns to her, she's staring at the folder in her hands, eyes wide, spaced out. She looks up and he can't help but think she looks a little dazed.  
"Hm?"

Though he wants to frown, his annoyance at the other agent in the van wins out, and he just shrugs.  
"The file? Can I look over it, see what we're dealing with?"

"Oh... Chuck, listen. I think Carina's right," The aforementioned Carina hmphs in recognition. At that, Chuck does frown. Though he tries not to look too worried in front of Carina, since that would negate the lie he's just told even more, he's not sure it works. Anxiety spikes in his chest, confusion quickly following. Sarah just sighs, perhaps seeing his reaction. "I'm sure there's someone else who could do this mission."

Okay, now he knows something's definitely up. The woman in front of him looks rattled, fearful, nothing like the calm organized Sarah he's worked with the past half a year, come to know, come to love.  
"What?" He shakes his head as if that will snap him out of it. "Sarah, I- We're here, right now, literally right outside the base staking it out, and Carina said earlier that I fit the profile to go undercover, I think we're pretty much best suited for it. Is something wrong, or...?"

She rubs a hand over her face, looking tired.  
"No... I know we're here, but this Jones guy seems really dangerous, I think you should maybe stay out of this one." Her tone is pressing, insistent, and it just makes him frown all the more as his worry gives way to annoyance, the air shifting to a more weighted one. Since when has Sarah had so little faith in him?

"Yeah, so what if he's dangerous?" he asks, shrugging. "I've been trained, you know I can handle it- I'm a spy."

Her eyes widen, jaw setting.  
"No, Chuck, you're n-"

She cuts herself off, but it's too late. He knows what she was going to say.

The van becomes cool. Cold. Carina shifts in her seat, uncomfortably, but Chuck doesn't even look at her, just looks at Sarah who's sat stiff right next to him, staring at the floor, mouth agape, and completely avoiding his gaze.

He clears his throat.  
"Carina, could you give us a couple minutes." It's not a negotiable question. It's a statement. And thankfully, the agent doesn't fight it.

"Sure," She slips away, van door creaking open and shut, and silence falls. Heavy.

He's not sure what to feel, what to say, how to go about figuring this out because his partner, his girlfriend, his... everything more, doesn't think he's enough of a spy to go on a simple mission and that's not really what's supposed to happen. She's meant to trust him, have faith in his abilities, and he thought she did. He swears she did. That she's trusted him on missions, that she believes he can do this job. These past weeks have been so simple and easy, missions passed with flying colors, closed and wrapped up with a little bow. He'd thought things were good, beyond good, but they're in the middle of nowhere right now, her sort-of-friend's sort-of-mission is tearing his ideas, his hopes, their relationship, to shreds, it feels like, and Chuck's just confused. Really, really confused.

After minutes of empty air, save for the whirs and beeps of the van equipment, he just needs to speak.

"Sarah, what's going on?"

She jumps. It terrifies him. Sarah's _never_ on-edge, never surprised, always cool and calm and collected and aware. Whatever's in her head right now is truly, truly getting to her. And just like that, worry floods in again.

"You know how I feel about you." she says, quietly, and his heart stumbles over itself. Reassurance of her feelings should be a comfort, but somehow, it feels ominous, like nothing good can follow. Maybe she's about to break up with him, he thinks, and he wants to be as torn up as contemplating that makes him feel, but he somehow finds it in himself to just nod. Continue.  
A bitter part of him, a part he hates, rises up and reminds him that actually, he doesn't really know how she feels, because she's never actually told him. She's never said 'I love you, Chuck', just responded to his declarations in some way or another, and though he's been fine with it, completely fine, right now, he can't deny it stings just a little to recall it.

He quashes the conflicted emotions, and settles for just shrugging.  
"Yeah."

She stands slowly, hunched over due to the van, and slips into Carina's recently-vacated chair, grabbing hold of one of his hands and tugging on it until he finally looks up at her. Her eyebrows are pressed into a frown.

"Do you remember, you told me you loved me because you said I kept almost dying?" He nods, trying to keep up with that sudden change of pace. But like he'd ever forget that day, that night. The second night with Sarah Walker that turned his world upside down. "We've been partners for months now and the worst you've been injured has been a cut or a bruise. God, I- I freaked out over you splitting a knuckle in LA. Chuck, I'm- I am so lucky. I might've almost died a couple of times, but you... You've been fine."

He nods again, following but with no idea where this is leading. Is this the problem, has she been worried for ages without him knowing, waiting for something bad to happen to him? Either he's been completely and utterly unobservant, or there's something now, something here about this mission that's made her realize all this. She flips open the file still in her hand and passes it over to him.

"If you do this mission, I can't- I don't want to imagine what might happen."

When his eyes flick down to the folder, he guesses he sees what she means. There are dozens of dead men, the pages scattered with blood, guts, gore. Bullet wounds and grotesque injuries litter every body, and all of it can be put down to Jones and his men. These dead guys are the types of people Chuck would be impersonating, the profiles matching the one he fulfils so well, so apparently his chances of survival are pretty slim if he gets on Jones' bad side in any way. He can't deny, if their roles here were reversed, if it were Sarah about to walk into a lion's den, their mark having a tendency to violently kill beautiful blonde women, well, Chuck would likely fight tooth and nail to stop her from going in.  
But it's not that way round. And they have a job to do. And she would argue back. He tosses the file aside.

"This is our job. We signed up for this knowing how dangerous it is. I get why you're worrying but you know as well as I do why I have to do this."

She shakes her head and squeezes his hand tighter.  
"I'm sorry I... almost said that, earlier. But, Chuck, you're not like any other spy I've ever met." He wants to protest, but the slow smile slipping onto her lips is so out of place in this weird moment, so tender, he stops himself, lets her continue. "You're different. And... incredibly unique. You didn't take this job because you thought it was cool or something, or dangerous, or even because you wanted it. You just wanted to help people. And- and you have Ellie, and Devon and Morgan, you have a real life, real people who'll miss you if something happens to you, and I... I don't want to meet Ellie for the first time standing on her doorstep telling her that her brother died at the hands of some criminal in a disgusting hideout in Venezuela."

She worries her lip between her teeth, eyes shining, and he swears he feels his heart trying to beat out of his chest. The ache that fills him is permeating, strong, spreading through him and he can't help but reach out for her with his free hand, trying to pull her close.

"Sarah-"

"No." She pulls back, edges away from his arm and he lowers it slowly, waiting once more. She evidently has more to say. "I have never been happier than I have been these past six weeks with you, Chuck. Never. I didn't know this could happen in this job, I never thought I'd meet anyone like you." Laughing softly, she shakes her head and takes a deep breath. "I fell for you a long time ago, after you said you had long limbs and before you kissed me in the hotel bar and- and I don't know what I'd do if something were to happen to you, I'm sorry."

"Sarah," he calls again, quietly, reaching out and tilting up her chin when she doesn't pull back this time. She meets his eyes with hers, brimming with tears, and oh, he can't even think, he loves her more than anything. He shakes his head in disbelief. "I love you so much."

He wheels her little chair as close to him as he can and kisses her, slow and sweet and trying to convey everything he's feeling right now because he's not sure how to proceed from here. Her speech has only made him more certain he needs to go through with this mission, and needs to be okay.

When he pulls back, he strokes her hair and slows his hand to cup her cheek.  
"But I'm gonna do this, and I'm gonna be fine. Not because I'm a good spy or any crap like that, but y'know why?" She raises her eyebrows in a silent question, and he finds himself smiling just a little. "Because I got the one thing no other spy gets. At the end of a mission, I've got you. I'm gonna go meet with Jones, do this thing, not get dead, and come right back to you."

He sees she's still not happy with it, but she nods, biting her lip.  
"Okay."

"Okay." He reaches out and kisses her again. She kisses back deeply this time, hurriedly, grasping at his jaw and holding him close. When he pulls back, he stays close. "I love you," he murmurs again, lips brushing hers.

A weighty pause falls and he sees her close her eyes again, fight, before releasing a breath. She just nods.  
Somehow, her not saying it now is a relief. Now, it would be for the mission, only for that. He doesn't want her to force it, doesn't want to force her, just wants her to say it whenever she feels comfortable. And if that's not now, he's fine with that, stupid bitter voice to the contrary.

He kisses her once more before nodding and pulling away, standing to tug the van door open. Carina looks up from her spot against a wall a good few feet away.

"About damn time." she yells, and he smirks.

"I'm ready."

Ten minutes later, he finds himself walking up to the building.

Sarah was right, the hideout really does look gross, he thinks as he sees it clearer, closer up. But then, he guesses, that's probably exactly the point. According to his file, which Chuck is inclined to believe, Grant Jones is a clever guy, and a dangerous one at that. If anyone on the street didn't know better, they'd walk right past this place, never suspecting it houses a destructive drug smuggling organization with a penchant for killing people who just made the mistake of trusting them.

He shifts his ratty old hoodie on his shoulders, checks once more that the newspaper trimming with Jones' advertisement is in his pocket, and recaps the specs.  
Today, he's Charlie Ryan, a young guy with once-great prospects who moved to Venezuela on a whim two months ago and is looking for work since he's made a few bad decisions and money's a little tight. Jones' ad, a simple request for English speakers with computer skills, caught Charlie's eye, and so he'd thought today a perfect day to stop by and enquire about the position. Jones probably won't bring up the drug smuggling side of the job today, but if he does, that only adds to his case. Because the moment he steps into the building, Charlie's gonna have a good look around the place and find out all he knows before calling in his amazing girlfriend and her terrifying former teammate, and Jones and his operation can be shut down by the joint authority of the CIA and the DEA. Lives saved, mission accomplished.

"You reading me clearly?" he murmurs, reaching up and readjusting his hat, wrist near his mouth so the mic on his watch picks him up.

"Yup, all good, Chuck." Carina says, and Chuck's not sure if he's glad Sarah didn't answer or not. Determined though he is to complete this mission, a little cuddling session with his girlfriend certainly wouldn't go amiss between them right now, or just in general really. Hey, he gets needy sometimes.

There's a little movement behind the dirty windows lining the side of the building, he sees as he gets a little closer, someone inside clearly having spotted his approach. He shuffles in his step, feeling the reassuring weight of his tranq gun clipped securely just above his ankle. The jeans he changed into might be a little warm in the heat of the day, but they're shielding his only weapon, so he guesses the discomfort is worth it. He clears his head, places all wandering thoughts about that conversation with Sarah far far away, and takes a deep breath. Go time.

Though he only taps lightly on the door, even that is enough to make the molding frame rattle and flecks of paint fall to the floor, and he suppresses the urge to make a grossed out face. A few seconds later, the door is tugged open with a loud creak, and a head pops round.

"What do you want?" says the guy standing in front of him, voice gruff, low.

"Uh, I'm looking for Mr Jones? I saw his ad." Chuck tugs the folded piece of newspaper out of his pocket and waves it around for the guy to see.

Naturally, the man's demeanor shifts, he stands upright, plasters a smile on that Chuck's sure anyone would be able to spot as fake. The guy pulls the door further back and steps away.  
"Ah, of course. Come in, Mr...?"

"Ryan. Charlie Ryan, thanks."

The guy, who apparently doesn't think to introduce himself in kind, leads Chuck through the dingy lobby, which consists of a small hall with a tiny desk and a bland stock image hung crookedly on the wall, to a somewhat cleaner room with two chairs. He leaves, telling Chuck that Grant (first name basis, evidently) will be through shortly, and the moment the door closes, spy instincts kick in. Chuck looks around, assesses the location.

"Okay, Chuck, talk to us, where are you?" Sarah says, and he smiles even at her voice. God, he's so far gone.

He scratches his ear, murmuring quietly just in case anyone around him can hear.  
"Small room off the lobby. There's two doors, one I came in through and another, well, I don't know where that goes. Apparently I'll be meeting 'Grant' some time soon, which is good because there's nothing in this room to help us."

Carina hums.  
"What's the place like?"

"A mess. If those people in the files came in here not suspecting anything was wrong with this place, I'm not surprised they ended up dead."

He hears Sarah snort, and he wants to make another quip to make her laugh again but that other door clicks open and he watches as Grant Jones steps through.  
He's a smart man, his well-tailored suit and skinny tie giving him an air of professionalism, but his hair is long and greasy-looking, swept back with the ends brushing his collar, and Chuck's sure he'd look out of place in any business that isn't his own. The smarmy smile on his face just adds to the impression that Jones isn't all he's trying to seem, but of course, Chuck knows that already.

He also thinks he's got Chuck to rites. And that's exactly what Chuck has to sell.

"You must be Mr Jones. Charlie Ryan, nice to meet you." he says, rising, reaching out a hand that Jones takes after a second.

"You too Charlie. And please, call me Grant."  
He turns around to head back through the door and Chuck rolls his eyes whilst Sarah and Carina groan in his ear, unimpressed. The too-relaxed, too-friendly façade is already grating.

The room that's evidently Jones' office is nice, clean, probably the best room in the whole building, Chuck would wager, and that must be the reason he's in here right now. There are dark wood shelves and surfaces, with little knick-knacks strategically placed so as to seem personal and involved, like framed photos of animals and places but, Chuck notes, no other people, no family. It's a front. A neat one, but a front.

"So, Mr Ryan, Charlie, what can I do for you today?"

Chuck pulls out the newspaper scrap again, thinking over the cover.  
"I was just passing by, but I've seen your ad, and without sounding too pretentious, I think I'm exactly what you're looking for. I have computer experience, I studied at Harvard, and I think I could be a great asset to your company."

Jones raises an eyebrow and picks a baseball up off his desk. It's out of place there, just tossed amongst pens and paper, like he'd tried to make it seem unique or special but hadn't quite figured out how to do that.  
"Impressive pitch, Charlie. But I got a question- if you're so good, how come you're not already working someplace else?"

Honing his acting skills, Chuck slumps a little.  
"Honestly, I messed up. I moved here two months ago for the hell of it, left a great job in Chicago too, and I've just been kicking around. I don't wanna get in with a bad crowd, y'know? Your company seems the perfect place for me to get my crap together again."

Jones grins, a slimy boyish smirk, and tosses the baseball between his hands lazily.  
"Okay."

"Okay?" Two similar words repeat in his ear from a confused sounding Carina and Sarah.

"Yeah, sure, okay." Jones shrugs. Much like everything is with the man, it's too casual. "I'm low on staff and you need the job, I ain't gonna turn you away, kid. You got yourself a job."

Chuck leans in, reaches out a hand as he pretends to get over the shock, which isn't that tough given how smoothly that went, and rambles out thank yous until Grant shakes his hand, raising his other to stop him talking as he pulls back.

"Now, I expect you'll wanna know what you'll actually be doing. I know my ad wasn't that detailed but eh, character limits."

Carina scoffs.  
"God, this guy's annoying." Chuck silently concurs.

Jones leans over the desk, bowing his head like the next information will be top-secret.  
"I run a little network here. All good American folks like you and I, transporting stuff all over the country." Well. That's the drug smuggling pretty much admitted to, some paper proof and Jones is walking away in handcuffs quicker than they'd thought. "You, Charlie, you'll start off fielding deliveries, working costs, responding to clients, and from then on, who knows?"

"Sounds great to me!" Chuck says, with faux-eagerness.

"Oh, but kid, there is one more thing." Jones raises a hand. "Don't disappoint me. Don't mess up. I run a tight ship, I don't like slip-ups. More than one, and... Well, you'll see, if or when you get there. Do I make myself clear?"

The gulp Chuck works out isn't really faked. Jones is, frankly, terrifying.  
"Sure thing, Mr Jones."

"I said Grant, Charlie. Call me Grant." It should be conversational but somehow, it's just as terrifying as his threat. Jones is about to continue but thankfully the old looking phone on the desk lights up and rings shrilly, causing Chuck to jump and Jones to just look annoyed. "Excuse me, Charlie, I have to take this."

"No problem," Chuck says, leaning back in his seat while trying to send a happy look to Jones that implies he's fine with it, but really, he's still a little scared. Sarah and Carina are silent in his ear, evidently waiting, and it's unnerving.

Jones murmurs quietly for a few moments before grunting and hanging up the phone.  
"I'm sorry, there's a situation in the lobby I need to attend to, I'll be right back."

When he slips out, Chuck slumps in relief.

"God, that guy's creepy." he mumbles into his mic.

"Told you. I'm pretty sure he's murdering someone in the lobby right now, we just saw a guy walk in but I don't think we'll see him walk out." Carina says, bluntly, and Chuck splutters as he stands up, eyes flitting over the office.

"Carina." Sarah scolds, and yet again he smiles at just her voice as he wanders round the room, eyeing the plain papers on the desk. There's so much it's hard to know where to start.

"Okay, I'm looking round the office now, there's not much here, any idea what I could be looking for?"

"Drugs." He hears a muffled yell right after Carina speaks and he guesses she must just have been punched by Sarah. "Okay, okay, and any record of the dead guys being employed by Jones, any proof of Jones' clients and the drug ring, that kinda thing. We need evidence, Chuck."

He'd figured that, but he's only got so long in here and he'd rather not spend all his time responding to Carina's being awkward.  
"Yeah, you don't say," he murmurs, instead pulling open a drawer and rifling through the contents. It's more papers and files, with scattered random rubber bands and thumbtacks, but when Chuck reaches in, the bottom of the drawer hits his hand quicker than he'd been expecting, and he frowns at the odd feeling of the material. It's plastic, unlike the wood of the rest of the desk. "Uh, I think I've got something here."

"What is it, Chuck?" Sarah asks, and he darts his eyes back up at the door before lifting up some of the files and trying to reach the bottom of the drawer.

"I'm not sure, I think it's a false base to the drawer of the desk. If I were to hide important secret drug smuggling files anywhere in this room, I think it'd be there."

Carina murmurs in assent before stopping suddenly, and he hears rustling against the mic before she speaks again.  
"Okay heads up, Chuck, Jones just threw a fairly dead looking dude out the front door into the street and now he's headed back in, probably back to you."

"Almost got it-" He heaves up the plastic base, still holding the files, and raises it to find yet more papers. But these ones have signatures, checks, lists of names and numbers and locations he'd need to study in detail to figure out properly, but it's something. Well, that and the little plastic bag of white powder nestled between two pieces of paper is something. It's what they're looking for.

He hears the door click and he knows he's out of time. It's a shame, really, he'd hoped to escape this place without a fight, but maybe luck isn't quite on his side right now. Sarah is, though, and he reminds himself, she's all he needs. He's going to get back to her.  
He drops the plastic base, the files and tacks and bands on top of it too, and watches as they slip back into place almost perfectly, leaving the drawer more or less as it was when he found it. Hopefully, Jones won't know quite how close to the truth he got.

"Oh, Charlie. I had such high hopes for you."

He looks up to see the bad guy in question standing in the doorway, arms folded, a look of mocking disappointment on his face.

Carina hums a little, thinking.  
"Stick to the cover, Chuck. Make him think you're just a nosy kid."

Chuck would agree, aloud, but saying anything would do the complete opposite of keeping the cover. It makes sense, though— this way, Jones might not scramble to hide any evidence, this way, he shouldn't know he's being investigated by the DEA, and the CIA too. And if Sarah and Carina do move in, it should still take him more or less by surprise.

And so Chuck gulps, does his best to look sheepish.  
"Ah, Grant, I was just looking around-"

Jones sighs, uncrossing his arms.  
"I warned you not to disappoint me. Snooping? That's very disappointing, Charlie."

Before Chuck can even blink, Jones has rounded the desk, grabbed him roughly by a handful of his hoodie, and dragged him out from behind it.

"Mr Jones I can-"  
He's cut off by Jones' fist meeting his stomach at an impossibly fast rate. Chuck forces himself not to fight back, block the blow, and finds it surprisingly difficult. Months of being in the field, and months of training before that, have conditioned him to defend himself, get in his own hits, and he's been getting better and better at it. But if he fights back, Jones will likely realize Charlie Ryan isn't just a down on his luck nobody, but is something else entirely. And so, Chuck stays limp, and from then, it's just pure pain.

Jones elbows him in the jaw while sending him a manic grin, strikes him over the head with a laugh, repeatedly punches his stomach until the pain escalates so much Chuck's legs give way and he collapses to the floor with a gasp. He can't hear anything from his earpiece but he hopes to god Sarah doesn't realize how bad he's hurting because he promised he'd be okay here, and he will. But it still stings when, as if to add insult to literal injury, Jones kicks him in the legs a couple times and throws a sharp right hook to Chuck's cheek. Even trying to fight back like an untrained person might would just lead to just more and more pain, he's sure, so he just lies there and takes the blows, agonizing and agonizing as they are.

"Mac!" Jones yells, once the hits have slowed, and from his place face-down on the floor, Chuck hears more than sees the brute from the lobby shuffle in with a grunt. He's expecting to be dragged off by the guy, or shot perhaps, but instead he feels yet another hit to his face and he peels open an already-throbbing eye to see Jones towering over him, seething.

"Lucky for you, Charlie," the man says, his voice calm despite his infuriated demeanor. "I have another appointment, so killing you will have to wait. Mac, take him to the cells like you did with the other kid. We'll have a little party with them tonight."

Jones retreats with a menacing laugh even Chuck has to admit is pretty awesome in a bad guy kinda way, and then the dragging commences. Unlike the last time he'd been taken through a building and thrown in a cell, this is painful and unpleasant, and it reminds Chuck just how lucky they'd been then that the ring base weren't prepared for an attack. Then, he'd been faux-unconscious, lightly tugged along soft carpets and thrown into a nice little empty room. Today, Mac seems to be enjoying throwing him into a wall or not rounding the corner properly and letting Chuck's legs bang against it as he scrambles frantically to keep up. That combined with the bruising and aching spreading through him from Jones' attack, and Chuck is pleased when he's tossed into a concrete cell, disgusting as it is. The door, a thick sheet of heavy rusting metal, clangs shut, the sound echoing around the pitifully tiny room. The walls are grey and plain, plaster scratched and peeling, the floor is dusty and stained with what looks like rust and blood mixed together, and it stinks.

Waiting until he can't hear the fading footsteps outside anymore, he gingerly raises his hand to his face, relieved when no immediate pain shoots through him.

"Guys?"

He hears as the mic on the other side clicks on again and rushes of Sarah's breath floods his ear. He wants her to speak, wants to hear the reassurance of her voice, wants to relish in the comfort of her but all he hears is her breathing loud and fast, until that fades and Carina pipes up.

"You okay, Chuck?" Perhaps it's unkind to think it, but Carina sounds concerned, sympathetic, for the first time since he's met her. "Where'd they take you?"

He casts his eyes round the awful room again, quickly pulling up memories of his training in his mind and looking around, trying to gather his bearings. When he cranes his head up to try and see the sun, his neck protests, and there's only one tiny window very high up anyway.

"I'm in a cell..." He works out the angles of the shadows. "South facing. But guys, the files I saw, they- I think they had the evidence we need. I saw names and signatures along with a couple bags of drugs and some payment, it's the proof you wanted, Carina, all in that office."

"Thank god." Carina says, and he thinks he hears the clicking of her mag sliding into her gun. He imagines them gearing up in the van, gathering vests and ammo, and honestly he can't wait to see them both, mainly Sarah, and get out of this room.  
The stench is getting worse by the moment, as is the pain as it continues to burn through him.

"Hello?"

He jumps at the voice, coming not from his earpiece but somewhere near him, in the building. But the cell is still as empty as before, the rusting door still sealed shut, and he wonders if the pain is making him hallucinate.

"Down here." the voice says again, and Chuck casts his gaze round before finally seeing a messy chipped part of the wall to his right. The section is so fragile, he realizes, it's actually made a hole through to what he's guessing is another cell. Though it hurts his still-blooming bruises, he lies on his front and peers through, squinting until he can make out a figure.

"Oh." he says, surprised. "Hi there."

The figure waves a little.  
He's a kid, can't be older than a teenager, Chuck's sure, with once-dark hair a dusty brown where dirt coats it. The boy's skin looks similar, though Chuck thinks there might be some dried blood on him, too. He's cradling his arm to his chest where he sits against the opposite wall to this little window; the limb must be broken. With a chill, Chuck remembers Jones mentioning a kid who had also been thrown into the cells, who would be at the 'party' with Chuck later. This boy must be him. Just an innocent kid who evidently made a bad choice, and is now beaten and broken in a disgusting cell, at Jones' hand.

"Who were you talking to?" the boy asks, and without thinking Chuck raises his watch to his mouth again.

"Uh, guys, there's at least one other person in the cells with me here. Carina, you were right about Jones, this guy is... awful." He looks back up at the wide-eyed kid. "What's your name? I'm Chuck."

"Uh..." The boy still looks stunned, eyes on Chuck's wrist, and Chuck's sure he must think he's either insane, or a spy. One of which is accurate, the other merely debatable. "Raf."

Chuck grins.  
"Nice to meet you, Raf."

The earpiece crackles to life again.

"Chuck," Sarah says, sounding a little hurried, and at just her voice he feels like collapsing to the ground with relief. Since he's basically already on the ground, he just stays there. In the background of the comm, he can hear the rapid clicking of a keyboard, very distant and quiet, but there. "We're gonna get you out of there, and this other person too, but there's no door at the south entrance and we don't know if the building would hold us blowing it open. We're going to have to take down Jones and his men and then come to you, I'm sorry. Can you defend yourself if anyone finds you?"

Though he's still in agony, the weight of his tranq gun at his ankle is still reassuring.  
"I'm good. Jones beat me up pretty good, but I'm okay."

"Don't worry, Walker," he hears Carina say, the mic still on so he's evidently meant to hear it though it's not aimed at him. "I'll let you shoot Jones first. Aim for the crotch."

Chuck pulls a face at that but feels he doesn't need to contribute.

"Chuck?" Sarah says again, and he murmurs an 'Mmhm' into his watch before she continues. "I'll see you soon."

At that, silence falls in his earpiece, and he though he wants to enjoy the brief quiet before the beginning of the inevitable carnage of Sarah and Carina storming the company, he's got more pressing matters. Looking back through the wall, he sees Raf still staring at him, confused and stunned-looking.

"Your arm looks pretty bad, Raf, you okay?"

The boy nods.  
"Yeah, I'm... It's fine. Who _are_ you?"

He smiles.  
"Like I said, I'm Chuck. I'm here to help, I work for the government in the US. And me, and my partner, and her friend, are gonna get you out of here just fine, buddy." When Raf's jaw drops, Chuck considers it a victory. He wants to make a joke or chat some more, but the sound of gunfire suddenly explodes through the building, and he reaches for his tranq gun before turning back to the small gap in the wall. It should just fit. "Raf, c'mere, I'm gonna give you my gun. It shoots tranquilizer darts. If anyone comes into your cell, you shoot them with it, okay? It'll knock them right out."

Though he looks terrified, Raf shuffles over as Chuck tries to tear a couple more chunks out the wall before pressing his gun through the hole. It takes some shoving on his end and some tugging on Raf's, but it falls through eventually with a quiet clatter. The gunfire gets louder, nearer, and Chuck can hear screams and yells along with it now. He suppresses the fear in his mind that points out just two people, Sarah and Carina, are attempting to take down and shoot out an entire smuggling organization right now, and just focuses on the idea of seeing his girlfriend's face, hopefully in a couple minutes' time. Besides, he's got faith. She's amazing.

"What about you, Chuck?" Raf asks, looking at the weapon in his hands before looking back through the little window. He looks a little shell-shocked at everything, though that's not surprising. "You don't have a gun now."

It's true, and Chuck knows he really has no way to defend himself now even though Sarah thinks he does. But she was right, earlier, in the van. He took this job to help people. And he's not gonna let a defenceless kid possibly get hurt, killed, while he himself stays safe and tranq-happy here. No, Raf needs the gun. As much as that leaves Chuck with basically nothing to fight with.

Since the boy is still looking at him, he forces a smirk.  
"No, but I've got a really awesome girlfriend." Well. He does have that.

It seems to placate the kid, somehow, and he shuffles back, holding the gun in his not-broken arm and raising it in preparation. His hand is shaking with nerves or fear, which of the two, Chuck doesn't know, but he can't help but feel sympathy for him. This must be terrifying, for just a child like him.

The gunfire gets louder still as, hopefully, Carina and Sarah storm their way through the building, and though it makes literally everything hurt- his arms, his neck, his chest, his stomach, his legs, his head, somehow his earlobes-, Chuck pushes himself back against the wall, using the flat surface to help him stand straight, inching higher and higher until he's reasonably upright. He tenses his aching arms, readies himself for the fight, should it arrive.  
When the clanging of bullets and the shouts and calls reach a cacophonous level, and Chuck's pretty sure he can hear Raf whimpering or crying next door, it arrives.

The door creaks when it opens, rushing round into the room with a bang and making chunks of plaster fly from the adjacent wall at the force. Chuck curls his hands into fists as the hazy figure of Mac, standing in front of him, a dark silhouette against the bright whiteness of the hall behind him, becomes clearer, the man stepping forward.

"They shot Jones..." he murmurs, his quiet voice somehow clear and terrifying in the noise. He shuffles closer, and as Chuck's eyes further adjust to the new brightness outside, he sees the other man is seething, pissed, so tense his veins are popping out of his giant arms. His hand is dripping with blood and Chuck doesn't know if it's from a bullet or a wound or some dead soul. "You did this."

Amongst it all, Chuck hears the crashing of another door right next to him, and he can't help but grin when he hears a grunt followed by a thud. Good on Raf.  
"I did."

"Oh, you're gonna pay."  
Mac pulls a knife from his belt with his bloody hand, the blade long and sharp and terrifying, and then he lunges and despite all his training, all his experience, Chuck knows there's no real fight here, not against that weapon, when he's already hurt. But if he has to go out, he won't go silently. Curling his hands into fists, he raises them, thinks of Sarah as the man gets closer still.

A gunshot rings out. Silence falls. Mac does, too.

And Chuck looks up to see Sarah Walker standing in the doorway, framed in that light, arm stretched out and gun still held tight in her hand. Mac lies on the floor, and for the first time in his life Chuck couldn't give a damn.

"Chuck?"

He nods, swallows.  
"I'm okay."

And then she's running to him and he's running to her and they meet in the middle of the disgusting cell with a bleeding guy unconscious or maybe dead right next to them and Chuck just wraps his arms tight round his partner and doesn't ever, ever, want to let go. He just buries his face into her hair, lets her hands hold him close, and breathes.

"Yo lovebirds, we should get out of here."  
Until Carina interrupts them, of course.

He pulls away just a little to see the agent standing in the hall outside, one of Raf's arms slung round her neck to support the boy as he tries to stand up. He looks a little stunned, but whether that's from the shootout or just Carina's presence Chuck isn't sure.

Now he's in the proper light of day, though, Chuck can see just how truly weak and beaten the kid is, just how close he came, and he can't help but hope Sarah really did shoot Jones in the crotch because if not dead that's the worst thing Chuck can think to inflict on him right now. He's taken innocent easy targets, like Raf, and manipulated and killed them for god knows how long and if what Carina said about the DEA dropping the case was right, it weren't for Chuck, apparently, Jones would never have been stopped.

"Did you get your evidence?"

Carina smirks and pulls a little bag of powder from her pocket.  
"Of course I did. The DEA are sending in a team to process this crap hole, as are your guys. Case closed, mission accomplished, bad guy handcuffed and in a lot of pain. My kinda mission." She sends them both a wicked grin before slowly walking away with Raf, and when Chuck turns to Sarah he just catches the end of the eye roll she's sending to her friend.

"You need to get to a hospital." she murmurs the moment Carina's gone, shifting though still in his arms, and the rush of adrenaline fades right there and then at her words, pain swarming in instead.

"Normally I'd protest, but this time I think you're right," The last few words turn into more of a groan, and though the attempt he makes at a reassuring smile sent Sarah's way seems to work to some degree, since the worry on her face fades a little, he knows it's not that convincing. They both know how risky this was, how close they both got to being about to lose the other, how almost-true her thoughts earlier in the van were. He'd never been in such danger as this before. Maybe that makes them even now or something, he doesn't know.

All he does know, is that as they shuffle out the awful cell and past the carnage and bloody chaos of the remains of the building, all he can do is hold her close, and she holds him tight right back in return.

* * *

When he awakes, it's slowly. Sleepily. His limbs feel like lead instead of the floating feeling he'd hoped for, and he guesses the hospital laid off on the morphine, which sucks. A dulled ache shoots down his spine when he turns his head, and he feels something else on the bed shift as he tries to open his eyes.

"You're awake," he hears Sarah murmur, and he cracks a smile before he can even see her. He's not sure how long he's been out, how injured he is, what happened with the rest of that mission, but she's here by his side so he's okay, really.

She looks worried, he thinks, as he finally focuses on her. Her hair is messy and pulled back, face a little pale, smudges of mascara by her eyes as she looks about the space they're in. He can hear other voices, and when he casts a quick look around too he realizes there's just a curtain pulled around his little bed, so he must be in a bigger ward overall. That and the lack of morphine tells him he evidently isn't too injured, which he thinks is a good thing, even if, god, everything does hurt.

Sarah hands him a little cup of water and he takes a sip.

"Mission go okay?" he asks, grimacing when the words catch in his throat a little. He takes another sip, just watching Sarah.

She looks at him, almost gaping for a few seconds, before she rolls her eyes then looks down at her watch.  
"Yes. Carina's flying back in an hour, apparently the DEA are as happy as Graham was when I called him."

He grunts in agreement.  
"What about the kid, uh, Raf?"

"Dehydration and a broken arm but he's fine. He says he has an uncle in Texas he's going to live with while he recovers, and that he'll be more careful with his job hunt in the future." she says, with a smirk that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

Chuck reaches out an aching arm, tangles his fingers in Sarah's.  
"Good, that's good," he murmurs, attempting a nod but stopping when it hurts again. "And me?"

She swallows, sweeps her gaze over him.  
"You have some bruised ribs and they think a concussion, plus some flesh wounds," She gestures at his face and arms and he gets it. "But you're okay. You'll be okay."

Something in her tone makes him think she's repeating that more for her benefit than his own, and he strokes the back of her hand in reassurance. The reality of the mission, their conversation before, is just sinking in and he wonders just where they go from here.

"Sarah-"

"I love you."

His heart trips up over itself. Because though he doesn't want her to just say it for the sake of it or whatever, hearing her say that, hearing her put it into those words, oh it just means the world to him. He licks his lips, focuses on her, makes sure this is for the right reasons.

"Oh, you don't have to-"

She cuts him off.  
"No, I... I love you." She pauses, lets it sit. Sink in. Once more, his heart races. "I'm sorry about the, the mess before the mission, I'm sorry, but... I've never felt like this before. You've been a spy for a fraction of the time I have- being in love with you just goes against everything I know. But Chuck, I... I do love you. So much."

He's trying to breathe but it seems to be getting stuck in his throat, choked up and confused, and he just watches as she edges closer on her chair and reaches up. Her fingers slide into his hair and she pulls his head just the tiniest bit down, but instead of kissing him she just rests her forehead against his and they stay there and breathe and they relish the moment.  
Against all odds, against everything he'd been taught and told and practiced, once more, this is happening. It's working.

"I love you too," he murmurs through the quiet, and Sarah tilts her head up and kisses him oh so briefly before pulling back and letting him lie back down against the pillows. His neck is hurting a little, the aching muscles in his arms protesting, but that was so so worth it.

She lets out a deep breath, nods.  
"While you were out... I was thinking," she continues, then stops abruptly and picks his hand back up with both of hers.

"Oh yeah? About what?"

She brushes her lips over his knuckles and the gentle tenderness of the action makes his stomach flip like it always does. God, she loves him. He feels almost giddy right now. If it weren't for the agony in his body he'd hop right out of bed and jump for joy, he's sure.

"I think we should ask Graham for some time off." Though he raises an eyebrow at that, she continues. "Real time off, no missions, no getting hurt. And a month this time, at least."

It sounds enticing, sure, but he's still fairly confused as to why she's saying it now.  
"I'm not complaining, but, why? If this is to do with me getting hurt it's-"

"No! No it's not, I promise. I... I've been thinking it for a while, since before this mission, at least. Wouldn't you like some time to just… be? Without having to think about running off to Vienna the next day, or infiltrating a drug ring the next?" He nods, the idea filling his mind, oh so perfect, peaceful, and she clears her throat. "And- like I said in the van today, you have a life, a real life in the world, a real future, and I think... Well, I'd like to be a part of that future, and that life, Chuck."

Emotion floods him for the thousandth time today, affection and loving and longing and sadness, and he tugs on her hands, still wrapped round one of his own, until she looks up at him with shining eyes.

"C'mere," he murmurs, shifting aside a little as she hops up onto the bed next to him. He raises a hand and squeezes her shoulder, the closest to an embrace he can achieve right now. "Sarah, you'll always be a part of my life, and my future, _always_."

She sends him a lopsided smile that makes his heart flutter yet again.

"And, I agree." He shrugs, minutely. "We should take a month or two off. We can travel, see the world, be as normal as two spies can be."  
Just the idea sounds like a dream. It's one he wants to make reality, more than anything. A chance at normality, simplicity, with Sarah.

With a chuckle, she leans in and steals a slow kiss from him, but he's only too willing to provide it. When she pulls back, he tugs her down to him and she nestles into his shoulder, one leg slung over his, all of her touches so so light which he knows is just in case she hurts him. She could never possibly do that.

"I love you," she murmurs again, and with a smile in return, he lets himself doze off. They're still all curled up when the doctor comes to discharge him an hour later, and they're in no hurry to part even then.

* * *

He smacks his lips as he turns his head, slowly blinking his eyes open and looking at Sarah across the aisle. She's doodling on a piece of paper on her tray table, other hand holding her phone to her ear, and she looks a little annoyed, a frown furrowing her brow.

"No, Director, I told you, he's sleeping under doctor's orders. I'm sorry, but can't you just call him when we land?"  
She drops the pen as Graham evidently responds, and with his ears burning Chuck sits up, pushing the blanket off his lap and moving off his makeshift bed, raising the arm rest between the two seats again. With a glance to his watch, he sees they're twenty minutes away from landing, and he cracks his neck as he tries to wake up a little more.

Sarah had insisted he try and get some decent sleep on the flight back, and though he'd wanted to curl up next to her, he'd taken the spare seats instead. It was probably comfier lying across them than slouching upright in a chair would've been, but not by much.

His painkillers must still be working, though, because while his joints ache and his wounds pull a little, he feels the best he's felt since before stepping into that gross hideout building. Physically, at least. Emotionally, he's beyond cloud nine. Sarah loves him, he remembers with a smile. Sarah loves him.

He waves a little in her direction to let her know he's awake and can speak if he needs to, gesturing at the phone with a questioning look, but she just shakes her head a tiny little bit, and he frowns. He guesses she doesn't particularly want him to speak to their boss anyway.

"Graham," she murmurs, voice low and tense. "You know you can trust me. Read me in on this too, what do you want to talk to him about?"

Evidently something important, Chuck muses, as he sleepily achingly shuffles across the aisle to his girlfriend, flopping down in the spare seat next to her without a word, and though she still seems annoyed at the phone conversation, she sends a small smile his way and links her fingers through his.

He can just about hear the faint murmur of Graham's voice, commanding across the line, and Sarah's eyes narrow.

"No, sir, I've... never heard of it. I- No, I understand that, but I must have clearance-" She huffs, squeezing his fingers even tighter. "Graham, we're your best team, I-"

At that, Chuck frowns too. If what Graham is calling about involves him and Sarah and their job together somehow, Chuck's at a loss. They just wrapped another successful mission, their numbers are great, surely that can't be the issue here.

"Well I'm sorry, Director, but you'll have to speak to him later. Actually, that's why I'm calling again. Agent Carmichael and I would like to request two months off- this last mission in particular took its toll, but we've both been hospitalized or badly injured a few times too many recently for both of our liking." Chuck can almost hear Graham rambling in defence on the other side, but Sarah stays firm, tone strong too, unwavering. "I'd have thought since you have some intention of changing this partnership in the future anyway, you wouldn't object to some time off, _sir_."

When her grip relaxes in his, Chuck's sure she's won this particular battle. What startles him, however, is her words. Whatever Graham's been calling about, it involves changing their partnership? He suppresses the urge to freak out.

"Thank you. You'll have my report within the hour, Carmichael's within twelve."  
She flicks her phone shut.

"Well that sounded like a pleasant phone call." Chuck finds himself murmuring, aiming for optimism and getting something more like sleepy confusion.

"Tell me about it," Sarah mutters back, running a hand through her hair. Eyeing it, he sees it's still dusty and dirty from the hideout, from that cell he'd been tossed into, and that she apparently hasn't cleaned up or slept since then alarms him.

He grasps her hand with both of his.  
"You okay?"

Unlike what he'd expected, she doesn't roll her eyes, doesn't protest, just slumps a little in her chair and slides her eyes shut.

"Mmhm, I'm fine. Tired, I guess."

"You should get some sleep," he mutters, but when he moves to stand and fetch her his blanket from earlier, she just shakes her head and tugs him back down gently, rubbing her hand over her face before peeling her eyes open once more.

"We have the time off. But Graham is going to call you in the next couple of weeks." Her voice is a hushed murmur, like it's catching in her throat. "He has a new assignment he wants to speak to you about."

He starts to nod, but her wording jumps out at him, and he freezes.  
"Wait... just me?"

She nods.

No Sarah. Just him. He guesses that's the change in the partnership she'd mentioned, but god, that's a pretty big change.

"Oh." Clearing his throat, he's about to change the subject altogether, find something lighter to talk about, when he realizes he's still none the wiser as to what on earth is about to spin his world into chaos, and he knows he just has to ask. Has to find out what the Director wants to tear them apart for, wants him, just him. "Did he say what it is?"

He catches the way she bites her lip as she shakes her head, grip a little trembling. She's worried, she's scared, right now, and that terrifies Chuck in return.  
"He said I wasn't read in, that I didn't have clearance. He didn't tell me what it would actually consist of. It could be a mission or a post or a team, I don't know." And that's just even stranger. Sarah and Graham may not be friendly, exactly, but there's a trust between the two of them that Chuck's always seen, that he now knows is because Graham is the one who recruited Sarah himself, personally. They go beyond way back. Though that doesn't mean the Director tells her everything, Chuck had thought with her asking repeatedly, the man might have given in a little. But he didn't.

"Why? Sarah, why would he split us up, does he-" His mouth dries up, words sticking in his throat, thick. "Does he know about us?"  
Does he know how ridiculously compromised they both are? Does he know they're not just partners in the professional sense of the word? Chuck doesn't even know how the guy would guess, but it could happen.

She shakes her head again, but he's nowhere near as relieved as he expects to be.  
"I don't think so. He just seemed insistent you take this job, that you were suited to it, I..." She sighs, changes the subject. "He only gave me the name of the project, I didn't even recognize it."

He frowns, toying with her fingers, leaning in closer. He can't even imagine what Graham wants him to do, what he'd split his best partnership up for, why he wouldn't want Sarah to be a part of it. Chuck can't process it, can't fathom just what would lead to this, and why now, why all of a sudden? What _is_ this thing?

"What's the name?" he asks, finally.

She shrugs.  
"The Intersect."

* * *

 **a/n 2:** Okay, okay, before the rotten fruit gets thrown, lemme just say a thing. Don't freak out. I know some people hate when fics have the Intersect in them, I'm never that fussed, but I get it. But, in this sorta fic, when Chuck's a spy, I felt it had to rear its head (does a supercomputer have a head? Its screen? I don't know). But the guy's Dad designed the thing, after all; I just think it's kinda hard to escape that, especially when he's already in its world, in the CIA. I just ask anyone who's worried or annoyed, to trust me. This whole fic is about Chuck and Sarah overcoming things, together, in this universe, and how differently things happen here than in canon and the show. And as I hopefully showed with this chapter, they're together, and they're strong, even if they face the same battles as the show they face them together, and differently, and they get through things. I'm not gonna stop that, honest. Hopefully I haven't strayed you wrong thus far, so I just ask you to stick with it.  
Anyway, this chapter was huge. I struggle with 2000 word assignments, but Chuck fic, I can throw out 13000+ words like it's no big deal. But I hope you enjoyed this chapter and my take on things! As ever, please leave a review if you did and let me know! We've got one more chapter to go until the end of this crazy ride, and I hope you'll like where it goes. See you next week!

-Kiera :)


	10. The Intersect

**summary:** On his last night home in LA before becoming a field agent, Chuck finds himself begrudgingly dragged to a nightclub, all thanks to Morgan. But what he meets there, or rather, who he meets there, is about to change his life, and his future spy career, in ways he can't possibly imagine. Partnered up, Chuck and Sarah have to navigate the spy life, missions, their memories of that fateful night, and a whole lot of feelings. AU.

 **a/n:** Whew. Yup, it's a long one to bring this whole thing to a close. I'd debated splitting this chapter in two to make it less of one giant chunk of writing, but eleven is just such an uneven number… Plus, I really wanted to do all this justice, these decisions and thoughts that lie ahead for our favourites, how they justify it all, without cheating y'all out of those scenes, and sometimes, that takes a lot of words to get through. I'll ramble my thanks, etc, in the end note. For now, I hope you enjoy this last instalment and my take on how that big ole' computer could fit into the world of Chuck and Sarah in this universe.  
 **disclaimer:** I don't own Chuck, hotel rooms, fountains, ties, or plot twists.

* * *

 _no one can rewrite the stars_

* * *

 **april through september**

He gets the call a month into their little sabbatical, and though he's been expecting it for weeks now, the harsh ringing of his cell is still startling.  
They're curled up in a hotel room in Paris, warm spring sun streaming through the curtains and bathing the space in a hazy yellow glow. Sarah's tucked into his side on the ridiculously comfy bed, wearing just his shirt and forever making his head spin, thumbing through a book while he similarly flips through the latest Justice League and wonders quite what he did to deserve this kind of serenity. If he hadn't been sure when they'd discussed it last week, this latest trip has cemented the idea for Chuck: he's not letting go of Sarah that easily. Graham's assignment could have thrills and tech and everything he'd want, but if it doesn't have Sarah, frankly, Chuck isn't interested.

"You should get that," Sarah murmurs, and he sighs.

"I know. I'm just, like, really comfortable right now."

When she grunts and shoves him off her, he gets the picture, and rises with a lazy slow stretch before heading over to the little desk in the corner of the room to pick up his flashing cell phone. He can see the Eiffel Tower just peeking out behind some buildings as he walks past the window, and he smiles unconsciously as he picks up the call, reveling in the simplicity of the world before his own world quite possibly turns to dust beneath his fingertips.

"Agent Carmichael?" comes a cheery voice, and he pulls back the cell to see the caller ID. It's Graham, but it's evidently his happy upbeat secretary as opposed to the man himself right now. The happiness is glaring compared to what Chuck is feeling right now, looming increasing apprehension, anxiety. Fear.  
Because this is a big deal, he'd worked that out already.

Graham wanting Chuck for something is honestly completely unexpected. Save for LA, the ring base mission, being partnered Sarah, and the odd briefing or debriefing, Chuck's hardly even spoken to the man. Every time they have to report back, it's Sarah who makes the call, Sarah who chats with the man who'd recruited her, and frankly, Chuck's unhappiness with that recruitment forever singed into his mind- as has been ever since Sarah explained it in full not long after they became partners in another sense of the word-, he's been all too happy to let her. He's not sure he could handle a casual report with the man who recruited a high schooler to be a spy just because her Dad had been arrested, especially now Sarah's told him about it, now he knows the specifics. But he _doesn't_ know Graham, frankly; apart from his strange words at the ring base, Chuck had no idea the Director even noticed him as anything but the guy who filed reports with Sarah. They're the top team, sure, but that doesn't mean Graham has any reason at all to just want him, Chuck, for something, and not Sarah too.  
The only reason Chuck can think of that Graham would have for wanting him specifically for this mission, is that something is very wrong.

He clears his throat.  
"Uh, yes? Secure."

"Director Graham wants to speak with you, I'll patch you through right now."  
Absentmindedly, Chuck wonders if Graham's assistant is the same one he'd had in September, the handsome Devon-like man who'd ushered him through to the Director's office where Sarah was waiting, stunned. But really, Chuck has other concerns right now, more pressing ones, like his whole damn future.

There's a pause of dead static air, a click of a button, and then Graham pipes up.

"Agent Carmichael. I trust your vacation is going well."

Chuck resists the urge to roll his eyes at the instant false casualness of the Director. Like this is a simple chat, a normal exchange, not something significant, important, CIA business that concerns Chuck's very future.  
"Um, yes Sir." he says, guarded, not falling into a relaxed persona like Graham.

Sarah looks up from her spot on the bed then, eyebrow raised in urgent questioning, and he just shrugs because she's truly still as clueless as he is. Despite their best efforts, they haven't been able to work out what the Intersect project actually is, and that's their main source of anxiety right now, Chuck's sure. Once they find out what he'd actually be doing, perhaps they'd feel a little better at being split up with no real warning.

"I'm sure Agent Walker had alerted you to my request a month ago, but I've allowed you some time off before calling again myself. I'll be honest with you, Carmichael, I want you for an assignment as soon as possible. It's top priority."

At that, Chuck's still as lost as to what this damn Intersect actually is, but he pulls up one of the plushy hotel chairs and takes a seat, waving a hand in Sarah's direction, because it's happening.  
She catches on, of course, silently slipping over his way and sitting right next to him, not saying a word. He turns the cell volume up high, just loud enough for the director's words to hopefully travel across without the tell-tale echo of speakerphone clueing their boss in. Sarah needs to hear this too.

"She did, sir," he says, gearing himself up for the argument he knows he has to have. "And with all due respect, I'm happiest working in the field with Agent Walker-"

"With all due respect, _Agent_ , this assignment is more important than your happiness." Chuck gulps. Sarah, evidently having heard Graham's tone even across the tinny cell speakers, slips her hand into his briefly and sends him a calming look. "Carmichael, your recruitment was rather... unorthodox, was it not?"

A frown finds its way onto Chuck's forehead at the change of pace, and he scratches at his cheek.  
"Yes... Yes, sir. I was recruited at Stanford, by Professor Fleming, but as an analyst. A, uh, a friend, another agent, protested my being recruited to the field, Fleming agreed with him."

He doesn't want to think about Bryce. They'd left things icy at best, Chuck mad at his friend for trying to stop his recruitment, Bryce mad at him in return for going through with it. He doesn't know now if Bryce is aware he made the transition to field agent after all- he hasn't even heard from him since that day at Stanford four and a half years ago, when Chuck caught him planting tests under his bed and they'd both burst into Fleming's office, and Chuck learnt spies weren't just on TV after all. All he knows about Bryce Larkin is some chatter about Russian deep cover, that's it.  
Either way, if this conversation is straying into the territory of his former best friend, Chuck is sure it's about to get even more muddy than he'd thought.

"And yet here you are, one half of my best partnership."

"Correct, sir," Chuck says, feeling tired of this talk already. "I don't mean to be rude, but we both know all this already, Director."

He hears the shuffling of papers on Graham's end, the clearing of his throat.  
"This Agent... Larkin, set you back years, Charles." At the use of his first name, Chuck recoils a little. Whatever Graham's offering, he's trying to get personal to do it. "The assignment you should have been recruited for at Stanford was a specialist project, you had the highest aptitude scores in your class and you were a perfect fit, but Larkin thought you wouldn't make it in the field. The promotion you got last year?"

"Uhm, yes?" Chuck wonders why he suddenly has a bad feeling about this.

"That wasn't by coincidence. We've been monitoring you since your recruitment, I paired you with Agent Walker to test your field capability. It seems Larkin and Fleming were wrong, Carmichael, you can survive in the field, and you're more than good at it. And now, we want to proceed with the original project that was derailed those years ago."

Sarah tugs on his wrist briefly, snapping him out of his thoughts before letting go, and he looks to her, eyes wide.  
Everything Chuck thought he knew about how he came to work with her, every single thing, was a lie. He thought his analyst work had just been good, that he'd just been special enough to warrant a promotion. But no. His entire CIA career, all of it, has been to lead him here. To this project. And suddenly, so many things he'd questioned, all make sense. Being promoted with no real warning, no explanation, no specifics about who selected him for field work. Being rushed through training and partnered up with Sarah at the drop of a hat. Graham seeming to favor him so much, being pleased with his progress, telling him that. None of that is orthodox. But Chuck had just thought, hoped, it was because he was good at his job.

In reality, his future had been planned the moment Fleming had picked him out at Stanford. He just hadn't known it.

He's not really sure what to say at such a bombshell, but Graham has paused across the line, waiting for an answer, an acknowledgement. So Chuck plucks the first thing he can think of from thin air; something about Graham's wording is off.  
"Who's we?"

"The CIA and the NSA," Graham says, like it's nothing at all. "This would be a joint op."

His jaw drops, as does Sarah's. This mysterious project that's mapped his career, is a joint operation with the NSA? He'd figured Graham would be calling about something important, but something of this scale is unprecedented.

The Director continues, still pitching this mission.  
"Fleming was one of many people who worked on a particular project, a computer. It was called the Intersect. After 9/11, the NSA and CIA joined up to share intel via this computer, with the data encoded into images. Charles, just remind me, what was it that Fleming was recruiting you due to your excellent performance in?"

"His psychology and symbolism class. I aced the... coded images section."  
It's like something clicks in his mind and just like that, everything makes sense.

Sarah turns to him, looking stunned, like she's made the connections too, and he desperately wants to hang up and talk this out with her but he can't, not with Graham being the one phoning, not the guy who doesn't know they're together, who can never really know. Whatever they'd been expecting, encoded images and top secret joint ops weren't anywhere on their list.

He swallows, tries to gulp down a breath, sort out the fuzzy pieces of information in his head into something clear, coherent.  
"So, you want me to work on this computer, but... in the field? I don't quite understand."

Graham chuckles, but it's not warm and open. It's colder. More like he's amused he knows something here that Chuck doesn't.  
"Not quite, Agent. See, the Intersect can do something else, and you're just about the only person with a brain strong enough to handle it. We haven't found anyone better in the years since Stanford, and the scientists don't think we ever will. Our hope is that, in time, you will be able to see all the intel the computer has, and retain the information. We'd maintain the physical database and use it for upgrades and testing other subjects, but you would be part of it too, out in the field."

Chuck blinks. He can't have heard that right.  
"I'll- I'll be a... walking computer?" When he looks at her, Sarah looks cold, scared, and it's exactly how he feels too. This is terrifying. It sounds amazing, technologically speaking, he has to admit that, but it's terrifying. "How?"

"Well, I can't get into the particulars now, but after the next month of your vacation I expect you to return to DC and we can begin the process then. It'll take some time, without a subject the project was halted for years and the Intersect rooms were taken apart, but-"

"No."

It slips out before he's really thought about it, but he knows there and then that he needs to fight his case. He thought he'd been prepared but now, knowing just what this project will entail, oh, the stakes are so much higher.  
Because if he accepts this, if he gets this computer in his head, he knows he'd be even more distanced from everything he loves than he is right now as a spy. Right now, he can email Ellie, if in secret, can be safe in the knowledge that he's protecting her through protecting the world. With this computer, he'd be, what, locked in a room, only to be let out just to be escorted through ops? This computer is top-secret, and to have him be a copy of it, out in the field, he'd be far too valuable, and very dangerous, and very sought-after. If anything went wrong, anything at all, there's a whole computer to replace him. Padded walls would likely be all he'd see, he supposes, he'd certainly never get to see Ellie again, let alone... Sarah. The idea of never seeing Sarah Walker ever again because of some stupid assignment is the most unsettling concept he's sure he can think of. If this had been a new partnership or post, he maybe could've taken not working with her. Not being able to see her at all, though, being a glorified asset, with a computer in his head and not having her there to watch his back, that's not something he can accept.

Maybe the assignment would do good, but right now, the losses simply outweigh the wins.

"Excuse me? Carmichael, this is an order-"

Graham's tone is furious, insistent, and Chuck swallows again.  
"No, sir, that's... that's not what I mean. I-I mean, it is what I mean, but..." When Sarah's hand slips into his once more, and a calm easiness washes over him, Chuck knows he's making the right choice. And he finds the words he'd been planning to argue all along. "Sir, you're missing a pretty big point here. I'm _half_ of your best partnership. Without Sarah, I'm... I'm nothing. You put me on this assignment, you give me your computer, and I can guarantee you that without Sarah there I'd be dead within a day."

"I..." Graham seems at a loss for words, and if the situation weren't so dark and confusing, Chuck would smirk at the development. "I understand your concern, Agent Carmichael, but we can find you someone else, I have other plans for Agent Walker-"

"Within a day." It's not some strange promise of death, just a hard fact. He really would. Not just due to Sarah's inability to protect him, but also that value he'd suddenly possess. The manifestation of all the government's secrets, out and about. "A human supercomputer would create quite a bounty, Director, I can do the math."

"Well, we could have Walker work with you, as protection." Graham suggests, but it's a useless suggestion the moment it's out his mouth, and from the way his words trail off, he seems to know that too.

"You're not gonna waste your best agent on a handler detail, sir. Even for a… top priority assignment like this."

There's a loud sigh across the line, and the rattling of more plastic and papers, and Chuck wonders if he pushed it too far. Sarah isn't sending him a warning look, though, just a somewhat anxious gaze as she taps the table, so she must think he was justified.  
"I'll tell you what, Agent Carmichael," he huffs, and Chuck feels a premature sigh of relief build in his chest. "Finish your vacation, and in a month, you and Agent Walker report back here to me. We'll... work on this, and discuss it then." By his tone, Chuck thinks there's nothing the Director would like to do less. He forces a smile.

"Sure."  
Chuck wonders if his voice sounds as tight and strained as it felt slipping out, choked in his throat.

With a final muttered goodbye, Graham hangs up, and Chuck breathes again.  
He leans forward in his chair, dropping his cell to the table and holding his head in his hands and trying to breathe just breathe it out, but the world is spinning out of control all of a sudden and he'd thought things were so good, so safe so serene in this little bright Parisian hotel room with its fancy furnishings, Sarah by his side. Yeah, he'd expected some kind of change with this phone call but now, god, everything's been turned upside down so haphazardly, so suddenly, and he's got absolutely no idea what the future will entail, what's going to happen, and that sheer lack of knowledge, that's the scariest thing. He feels again like the green young agent sat in a quiet waiting area outside an office, about to step into the unknown future that ended up being the best thing to happen to his life. Sarah.

Here, in this room, her hands are on his shoulders, stroking and squeezing in tight reassurance, slipping to his neck, touch cold and soothing where his skin is flushed and hot from trying to cope. Her fingers run through the hair at the nape of his neck, curls there longer than they've ever been with her at her very insistence, twisting round his ears and the side of his head. He raises a hand to clasp one of her wrists, stroking his thumb against the smooth skin in reassurance.

"Sarah, if I had to do this-"

"You won't." Her voice is set, determined and clear unlike his, muffled from his hand still round his face. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, shakes his head.

"I might have to," he says, knowing they both know how true that is. This isn't something he can just refuse. "Orders."

"No, I'll make sure you won't, Chuck. They can't force you to do anything, if you take this assignment it'll be your choice."  
God, he loves her certainty, the fervent fire in her tone, but he just knows what she's saying isn't completely sure, can't be. Orders are orders, after all. He takes a deep breath, feels it shudder in his chest.

"I don't want to leave you, Sarah,"

At that, she tugs on his hair, and he raises his head to see her eyes bright and shining and a little red-rimmed, a slow small smile on her lips.  
"You'll never have to."

Because he wants to believe her, he decides, just for now, that he can. And so he nods a little, sends her a small smile, and leans in to kiss her, quick and determined and searching.  
When he pulls back, she rests her head in the crook of his neck and just stays there, just breathing slow and easy for moment after moment until it stretches into long long minutes.

Some time later, he stands, pulling away from her only because he knows he must, has to clear his head, and walks away to the window, that warm spring sun still shining onto the Parisian streets. There's that glimpse once more, that slip of the Eiffel Tower just poking out behind the apartments opposite, glinting metal stark against the clear blue sky. Wonder fills him yet again, even as the awful sadness in his stomach still lingers. Sits, heavy. But he's still stunned he's here, finally, this place he's always loved, and dreamed of for so long. Sarah's thoughts of the city aren't so lovely, he knows, she's told him of her Red Test much like he'd told her of his. It was a long, low conversation, interrupted by tears, kisses, desperate clutches at each other. But he hopes that, to some extent, being here with him has maybe redefined Paris for her, just a little. Given her happier memories to counter the traumatic ones.

"Ellie would love this," he finds himself mumbling, the thought springing out from nowhere, some random memory of his awe of this place as a child, and a teen, and an adult.

Sarah slips in front of him suddenly, though he hadn't heard her move, and as she turns to look out the window too he slips his arms round her shoulders and pulls her back flush against his chest. She's warm and anchoring and reassuring and, as ever, all he needs. He doesn't want to think about that uncertain future, about computers in people's minds and government secrets and the price he could fetch. He just wants to be here, with Sarah, in this perfect little bubble, for as long as he possibly can.

"Mm?"

He smiles, nods.  
"Yeah. God, if she knew I were here without her, she'd-" He cuts himself off suddenly, thought springing to mind. "We should go see her."

Sarah tenses, stays standing where she is but turns her head to look up at him in surprise.  
"What?"

"Ellie, and Devon. We could go see them some time before we have to go back to DC," Though he says it as a casual idea, the moment the words leave his mouth he finds he suddenly wants them to be real, something they could do. Something he needs. "We haven't planned anything for this next month, we could visit LA."

"Oh." Blinking, she seems to mull it over, like she hadn't thought about that before. Eventually, she eyes him, gaze searching his own. "You know that's dangerous."

"I know."

"But you still want to do it."

"Yup."

She nods.  
"Okay."

He shouldn't be surprised, really. In the length of time he's known her Sarah's proven herself time and time again to just be one of the most awesome people. But he's still a little shocked at the ease with which she accepts his idea, the certainty she feels in it. Graham's supercomputer project must be weighing on her mind as much as it is on his, and suddenly Chuck knows she must be viewing this as the same thing he is.  
A chance to see his family before everything, potentially, goes to hell, and changes eternally.

"Really?"

Yet again, she nods, a small smile slipping onto her lips.  
"Yeah, I... It makes sense. And... I want to meet them, too, so..." She looks so shy all of a sudden that he can only smile at her and wait for her to continue, so overwhelmed with love and affection as he suddenly is. She shrugs. "I told you, I don't want the first time I meet your family to be me standing on their doorstep giving them bad news."

He turns her round in his arms, plants his hands on her shoulders. His thumbs rub circles onto her skin though he barely registers doing it.

He licks his lips, pauses.  
"I... I think I should tell them the truth." Her eyes widen a little but she doesn't interrupt him, and he's glad. He doesn't think he could keep arguing with her over this, but he knows he has to say it. Because ever since she'd first told him that worry, in the van in Venezuela, he's had only one thought. "Sarah, I don't want that to ever have to happen, I don't want you to have that burden of- of telling my sister I've lied to her for years. You don't deserve that, and Ellie doesn't either. I want her to know what I do, and I want her to know I've got the best partner in the world with me."

Though there's a small smile spreading across her lips, Sarah shakes her head, and Chuck realizes it's not in a protest, but in something like disbelief. Like he feels every time he's with her. Like she can't really believe this is happening. He wonders if this time last year she ever thought that one day, she'd be on vacation in Paris with a gigantic nerd, discussing how to breach protocol entirely and tell his family he's a spy, and that she's one too. He doubts it.

"I love you," she murmurs, smile still there, and his heart trips up over itself like it always does when she says that. He guesses that counts for a yes.

"I love you too." He leans in, slips his arms down round her waist, and kisses her. Though it starts slow, as their lips move, part, it heats up and escalates as it so often does, and he feels her pull back to step away.

"We can plan later." Her voice is low, hushed, thick, and it's incredibly, incredibly hot. She reaches down to the shirt she's wearing, his shirt, fiddling with one of the two buttons holding it closed. "After all..." She pops a button. He gulps. "We _are_ in Paris. And it's very... very romantic here, Chuck." She pops the other button. With a shrug of her shoulders, the shirt falls to the floor.

"Oh god," he mumbles, not sure he'll ever get over this, ever get used to quite how incredible she is, quite how able she is to make his head spin out of control. And he's pretty sure he never, ever, wants to. The day he stops being stunned by her is a day he doesn't want to face.

She reaches out a hand, tugs on his arm, and steps backward to the bed, eventually reaching it and falling back onto the sheets to pull him down on top of her.  
Yeah, they can plan later.

* * *

He's fought terrorists. Drug rings. Rings of rogue spies, cyber criminals, arms dealers, all out bad guys, in the months since last September, he's fought them all, unfazed. He's been vigilant, strong, succeeded where others would fail.

And yet now, walking across the familiar cobbled ground leading to Ellie and Devon's apartment, he's terrified.

It wasn't meant to go this way, it really wasn't, they were all meant to meet at the airport last night and go for dinner. But Chuck and Sarah's flight from Spain (a nostalgic spur-of-the-moment trip back to Barcelona) had been delayed, and Ellie and Devon's work schedules hadn't matched up, so now, 10 hours later than planned, Chuck finds himself walking to his sister's home, suitcase in one hand and Sarah's fingers in the other, and again, he's terrified.

They walk under the arch, Sarah's heels clicking loudly against the ground, and he tightens his grip on her hand as he sees the sight that greeted him for so many years. A little before Stanford, a little after, on time off from his analyst work, and every vacation and break during college, he'd come right back here. When he thinks of home, it's not the house he grew up in, with absent parents and broken necklaces, and it's not the place he and Ellie had lived in before they'd been able to afford this apartment. No, this little complex, with the gurgling fountain and water lilies, the sandy stone, the outdoor fireplace, the twinkle lights embedded in the trellises, this is home. The apartment he's about to step into again, is home. Ellie and Devon, they're home. But, Chuck supposes, Sarah's his home now too. He gets the best of both worlds.

"What d'you think?" he asks, tugging lightly on Sarah's arm as they come to a stop, and watching as she looks around at the various apartments and balconies and shrubs.

She grins, all wide.  
"I love it. It's so..."

"So Ellie?"

She laughs, eyeing the ground and tossing her hair back over her shoulder, and he beams back in reply.  
"Yeah." He's very aware his girlfriend has never even met Ellie, and yet even she can tell, this place is perfect. It fits. As the thoughts of what's to come this afternoon fill his head again, though, the happier images subside. He must tense, because Sarah steps right in front of him, squeezes his fingers tight. "You okay, Chuck?" she murmurs, her tone wavering just a little, and he knows she's just as nervous as he is.

"Oh yeah, yeah, I'm good," he says, acting far more calm than he feels. He's sure she sees right through it, but she doesn't call him out on it. "I'm just... preparing myself."

He'd tried to warn Sarah about all the possible Ellies they might meet across the threshold. Ecstatic and excited that they're here, cold and frustrated that it's been over nine months since he saw her last, uncomfortably positive and dropping hints about him and Sarah moving forward left right and center. Any version of his sister could be through that door, and really, he's as unprepared for her as Sarah is. Ellie's a tough one to predict, he'll give her that.  
But, they're here for a reason. Because he misses his sister, because more than anything he wants his closest family to meet his girlfriend, and because, most importantly, he has things to tell Ellie and Devon, significant things. Things he really, really, needs to get off his chest. Before he might have to keep an even bigger secret.

"Have you thought anymore about what we're going to do?"  
Sarah's clearly asking about the Intersect project, and he just shakes his head, looking down at the ground. They've had weeks to try and figure things out since the Director called, and they still haven't worked out a plan. If Chuck rejects it, he risks being fired, split up from Sarah, or worse, risks being forced and ordered to go through with the assignment. If he takes it, he'll be a walking database for the CIA & NSA, under their control, maybe doing good but with a giant target on him at all times, and he still risks being split up from Sarah, unless Graham decides to factor her into his plans when they meet with him in a couple weeks. Both scenarios could lead to him not getting to talk to Ellie for a long, long time.  
Truthfully, neither of the options are appealing.

"Hey," Sarah murmurs, evidently figuring out where his head's at, and he looks back up at her only to see her sending him a kind gentle smile that makes his insides melt, and he falls in love with her all over again. "I'm sorry, don't think about that. Think about this, now. It'll be good to see them."

She nudges his shoulder, and he nods, smiling back in kind as a happy breathy laugh spills out.  
"Yeah. Yeah, it will. I love you." Maybe it's not really the time for that, but it's true, and her calming him down at this moment in time is very, very much needed. She knows just what to do, all the time. How he got so lucky as to be with her, he still doesn't know.

"I love you too." She says, sending him a crooked grin as they walk up to the apartment door, and with that confidence rising in him, he leans forward and raps his knuckles against the wood a couple times, tangling his fingers in Sarah's again the moment he pulls away.

When the door eases open a few seconds later, and Ellie's hesitant smile fills his gaze, he's pretty sure he stops breathing.

"Oh my god it's really you," his sister murmurs, breathy and hurried as she reaches out for him, and he drops his suitcase and drops Sarah's hand and just hugs his sister so so tight because he hasn't seen her in months, hasn't seen the woman who raised him, the woman who's always been there, his sister, _Ellie_ , hasn't seen her for almost a year, and he knows, he just knows how close he got to not being on this doorstep at all. If it weren't for Sarah, oh, so so many times, he'd be dead. And Ellie can never know how touch and go it's all been.

"I missed you!" Ellie says happily, as she squeezes the life out of him, and he laughs in what he thinks is glee before pulling away and beaming at her.

"I missed you too, El, so much. It's been a crazy couple months, I'm sorry."

"I'll say."  
His sister's gaze drifts to his left, to where Sarah stands. She's smiling happily with shining eyes but still looking nervous, unsure, just like she'd told him she felt on the cab ride over. But Ellie just smiles, looks back at him to make the introduction, and he can't really believe this is happening, can't believe the most important woman in his life, the woman he's fallen for, the woman he can't stomach the thought of ever really being without, is about to meet his sister. Up until he met Sarah, Ellie was the most important person he'd known, now relegated to a respectable second as he'd noted so many months ago. At this moment, with his sister's happy expectant smile, he's sure she'd forgive him for that.

"Ellie, this is Sarah, my girlfriend. And my partner." Though Ellie sends him a curious look at that addition, she just moves toward Sarah and dismisses the hand his girlfriend is reaching out. He suppresses a chuckle; he'd told Sarah that Ellie would probably go right in with the hug, but she'd shrugged him off and said nobody was that forward and open the first time they met someone. Eleanor Bartowski is a force to be reckoned with, though. She just wraps Sarah up in a big old hug and he sees his partner send him a stunned look over Ellie's shoulder.

"It's so good to finally meet you, Sarah. With your emails I feel like I already know you!" Ellie says, still grinning as she pulls away. "Thank you, too, I know how much you mean to my brother, so just... thank you. I'm so glad he has someone over there."

"Amen to that!" Comes a booming deep voice, and before Chuck can even properly turn around, Devon has wrapped him up in a giant hug.

"Awesome to see you, Devon." he manages to squeeze out amidst the crushing, and only when Awesome moves away can Chuck breathe properly again.

"Good to have you back, bro, even if it is just for a couple days. And this must be Sarah!"

"Hi, Devon." Sarah greets, giving a little wave and speaking up for the first time since Ellie arrived. By the tone of her voice and the smile on her face, she seems to be okay, happy even, and she lets Awesome bundle her up in a hug too, her expression even more startled this time Chuck can't help but laugh.

"C'mon! Lunch is almost ready, and I'm sure you guys must be starving after your trip." Ellie says, reaching toward him and tugging on his arm to drag him into the apartment he once called home. It smells like nice candles and fresh bread and it's the most familiar thing he could ever think of. Sarah trails behind, though, still smiling and chatting quietly to Devon, and he sends her a grin over his shoulder as they walk through. Well, it's the second most familiar thing he could ever think of.

It's strange to believe that the last time he crossed into this home he'd just left Sarah in her hotel, his lips still tasting like her and his thoughts all hazy and addled and conflicted. He hadn't known what to think, what to make of the woman who'd flipped his world on its axis, who'd left him reeling and wanting, mixed in with the worried thoughts about leaving Ellie for his final months of training and eventually becoming a spy. He'd been quiet, brooding, thinking, as he solemnly packed and shared a sandwich with Ellie on the kitchen counter before she drove him back to the airport.  
Now, all these months later, walking through here he's a spy, a good spy, one of the best, and he has the best partner, who he is also completely and utterly in love with. He is, somehow, an entirely different person to that new nervous recruit of the past. He hopes, and thinks, it's a good change.

He heads through the apartment to quickly toss his and Sarah's suitcases in his room, coming back to find Ellie and Devon in the kitchen, and Chuck can't help but notice how skilled at this his sister and her boyfriend are, how like a well-oiled machine their little routine is. Ellie pours drinks, Devon plates sandwiches, neither of them getting in the other's way. As he heads back to Sarah and returns her quick smile whilst slipping an arm round her waist, something tugs in his chest that yearns for this normalcy. This routine. Sure, he and Sarah are far more like a normal couple than most spies, he's pretty positive of that, but they don't get this. The guests, the brunches, doing it enough to work out a routine, a method. If they're in the kitchen together, they're usually cooking, for themselves, in his small little DC apartment while a file for an old or a new mission is never far away. It's the spy life; he signed up for it, and he loves it. But that doesn't mean he doesn't still want this simplicity, god, far too many times.

He's also strangely aware of the effort his sister is going to at this very moment. It may be Sarah's presence, sure, but there was a time for Chuck when lunch with Ellie meant them both flopped on the couch eating cheese balls, her often dropping off for a nap, still in her scrubs. He can't help but be reminded about just how different things are. And they're about to get even more so.

They eat in happy chatter, laughing round the table and drinking the nice punch Ellie's made, Chuck stealing some chips from his sister when she's definitely looking, making her laugh and slap his hand away. Devon tells stories about his last couple rock climbing adventures, Ellie tells some funny patient tales. It's simple, and refreshing, but when Chuck's eyes catch Sarah's as the meal draws to a close, and they all shift over to the couch, he knows he has to get this over with sooner rather than later so they can deal with Ellie's reaction. God, he's sure she's gonna kill him.

"Hey, uh, guys. I... There's something I gotta tell you." Ellie's eyes flick between him and Sarah and back again, and he quickly dives back in before she jumps to an entirely wrong conclusion. "I haven't been... completely truthful, about stuff. About my job, and what I do. And... I don't wanna keep this from you anymore."

Ellie frowns, slow, confused.  
"What? What is it, Chuck, what's wrong?" He sees the worry and doubt that creeps into her expression, and he hates himself. She's worried for god's sake, she doesn't even suspect he's been lying to her for years, lied to her about Sarah for months, made up stories and places and excuses, she has no clue. He's the worst brother in the world, he's sure.

"When I got that promotion, last year, I told you that I was doing the same job I had the past couple years, but that I was traveling. And that I met Sarah, again, in DC." His sister nods, confused, and he winces. "Well... that wasn't, really, true. For one, I work with Sarah, every day. She's my partner."  
When he reaches out for her, her hand slips into his right away, softly curling round his fingers, and he smiles just a little.

"I don't get it," Awesome says, and Chuck decides to bite the bullet.

"We're agents for the government, guys."

The gasp is almost audible.

"What? Chuck- No, you told me you worked a desk job for the government, not anything about-"

He rather selfishly interrupts before she can make him feel even worse.  
"I know, I did tell you that, but it was only sorta true." Sarah squeezes his hand tighter. "When I was here last, I had a couple months left of my training, and when I completed that, I got promoted. I'm an agent. That's why I do all the traveling, that's... That's why I haven't seen you for... god, ten months." He just about keeps his voice from cracking at the end. Just about. Because he's on the verge of crumbling apart and he knows his girlfriend's grip is the only thing anchoring him together.

"Who do you work for?" Devon asks after a few silent seconds, voice quiet, tense. Unsure.

"The CIA."  
It's Sarah who answers, unexpectedly, taking the initiative where she must have known Chuck would falter, both out of pride and inherent protocol. He's not quite sure what he's going to do if Ellie doesn't speak soon, so Sarah's diving in is just a godsend in multiple ways.

The air pauses, weighted, pressing down on him, the falling dust that's shining in the beams of sun slipping through the windows almost suspended, somehow still. He can't even hear anyone breathing, or the ticking of a clock, it's just... empty. And with nobody making to speak he just looks up, has to, only to see Awesome staring at the ground slack-jawed. Ellie, on the other hand, is staring Chuck down, jaw tight, hands fisted on her lap, eyes shining with tears but burning with fire at the same time.

He looks at her dead on, sees the change in her gaze like he's seen so many times before. When he'd yelled at her that time when he was seventeen, stressed with finals and Morgan's antics that week, just shouted right at her and she'd stopped, glared right at him. When he'd stormed out a couple days after their Dad left, gone for a walk, and had come back through the front door to find her waiting, seething, arms crossed. When he'd broken their Mom's necklace and she'd blamed him, ratted him out to their father. Just like all those times, and so many more, he can almost count down the seconds until she'll snap. Three, two, one-

"I need some air."

The door clicks shut loudly as she heads out to the courtyard, the echo of the slam reverberating round the room, and though Devon calls out Ellie's name, it's Chuck who stands, running a hand through his hair and trying to gather his thoughts enough to have this conversation.

"I'll talk to her. It's my fault."

That Awesome doesn't seem to know what to say just makes the weight bearing down on Chuck's chest feel even worse. With a quick look to Sarah, he stands, squeezing her shoulder briefly before he heads out to face whatever it is his sister is going to throw at him.

She's in the courtyard still, thankfully, pacing round the fountain and running her hands over her face. When she sees him, she falters in her steps, folding her arms over her chest defensively and not making any move to get closer. He keeps his distance too because he knows it's what she needs. The air is still thick and charged even out here, with them stood so far apart, both braced. It's like a stand off, except it's with his sister, which makes it ten times worse than any stand off he's faced in the field (and there've been quite a few).

"You're a spy." she says, mercifully fairly quiet, so none of the neighbors are likely to hear.

He nods, trying to find the words.  
"Yeah." It's all he musters up.

She shakes her head, runs her hands over her face.  
"I… I don't know what to say. We never used to keep secrets, you and me. We told each other everything. And now, you… You lied to me. A lot, for years."

Swallowing, he can only nod.  
"I had to, El, I'm sorry, it's the rules. I shouldn't even have spoken to you as much as I have these past few months, I mean, the trouble I could get in, that you could get in... Emailing you, telling you what I did, was... such a risk. If anyone found out- finds out- they could track you down, and it was best you didn't know anything about me to tell them. If I'd told you, you'd just be in more danger."

"But you're telling me now?" she asks, flicking a bit of hair off her shoulder. "Why would you do that?"

"I... I can't really explain it, but... an assignment came up. I haven't taken it, yet, but it would be dangerous. I don't know when I'd get to see you, or speak to you. And I- I just needed you to know now." He sighs, seeing as she just blinks, still stares at him. "I've wanted you to know since the start, but I wanted to protect you more."

"And what about me?" she asks, laughing though there isn't an ounce of humor in the sound. "You don't think I want to protect my baby brother?"  
She swipes away a rogue tear that rolls down her cheek, but she's not quite quick enough to hide it from him. When he moves toward her, though, she just jerks back, instead moving to sit on the edge of the fountain and running her hands over her face again, as if that might clear her mind. She looks so tired, so worn, and he hates himself even more.

"Oh, Ellie... You raised me. I can never, never pay you back for that. You're an awesome sister. I hate that I had to do this, I hate that what I do has come between us. It's why I came to see you last summer, I... I didn't know when I'd get to again. And it's been so much tougher than I'd thought- if not for Sarah, and being able to email you... I don't think I would've made it."

She looks up then, eyes flaring again like she's seeing red.  
"Was anything you told me in those emails even real?"

Quite a bit, Chuck thinks, if merely altered and changed a little, normalized. But he just blinks.  
"What I said about Sarah. I couldn't tell you everything, but I really did get paired up with her after we'd already met last summer, and she's definitely the best thing that ever happened to me. And I love her."

Ellie scoffs.  
"God, and she's a spy too. I was so happy for you, Chuck, I thought I knew what you were doing, and that you were safe, and you'd met a girl, and…" She takes a deep breath, looks up at him. "It's not what you're doing, I just… I don't know how to understand that you didn't tell me."

Nodding, he stuffs his hands into his pockets, awkwardly, wondering where they go from here. It feels like all they can do is circle around to the start of this all again. He sniffs a little.  
"El, Sarah's real, everything about her. I really wanted you to meet her."

"Chuck. She's a spy."

He shrugs.  
"I am too." Ellie rolls her eyes, and he shakes his head. "Sarah is so much more than that, sis. Please don't- Please don't judge her, it's... How she came to be here, is way more complicated than how I came to be here."

Ellie just shakes her head, shutting down, and somehow, that's what gets him to snap, that's what sits him down next to his sister on that fountain edge. He tugs on her shoulders, forces her to look at him, because she can question him all she likes, but Sarah is another matter entirely.

"I'm sorry that I lied to you, and I'm sorry that it's taken me so long to tell you, but this job... Ellie, we help people. We save people. I stop bad guys, really bad guys, from doing terrible things, and if I didn't have Sarah I don't know where I'd be." He sighs, shakes his head. "That assignment I might be getting, it'll be dangerous, and I didn't want you to find out about all this if things go south. I didn't want Sarah to have to deal with that. But even with the danger, I could take the job, because I'd be helping people. Sometimes you have to do a—a crazy thing for a good reason."

Of everything, his sister just looks to the ground with her mouth quirked up on one side, and then looks up at him with just the tiniest bit of amusement.  
"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one."

He gapes.  
"Ellie, did you just make a Star Trek reference?"

"I really miss you sometimes, little brother," she says, and for a moment it's like everything is okay. But then her gaze shifts again, and she sighs. "But life isn't a movie, Chuck. No matter what reasons you have, I'm never gonna be okay with you just risking your life every day."

"I know." He nods at her, the thrill of the reference ebbing away along with the sadness and frustration of their argument, though he's not sure that's entirely over. "But, sis, I _promise_ you, I couldn't be with anyone better than Sarah. She's... She's incredible, for so many reasons."

"You really love her, don't you?" The little smile Ellie sends his way lets him breathe easier still.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do, more than anything."

She nods, shrugging.  
"I'm happy you have that."

When silence falls again, this time, he can hear cars on the road outside, can hear the rustling of the leaves, can't hear only the pounding of his pulse in his ears or nothing at all, or solely feel the weight of the air pressing down on his shoulders. It's good.

"Hey," he nudges Ellie's shoulder. "How do you feel about a brother-sister hug situation right now?"

She grins slowly at the phrase they've used before, after those arguments in the past, biting her lower lip in that way she always does.  
"I'm open to it."

He leans forward to find her hands already on his shoulders and pulling him close, and he just hugs her back even tighter, savouring this moment. Because if this life has taught him anything, it's that you can never guarantee you'll get to do something you take for granted ever again. When Ellie squeezes him in return, he thinks she might be thinking the same thing.

"I'm still not okay with this," she says, words mumbled and muffled by the fact she's speaking into his shoulder, still hugging him tight. "And I might be mad at you for lying to me for a while longer."

He can't help but smile a little. While he understands her stubbornness, it almost reminds him of so many instances from their childhood. Ellie doesn't like to give in.  
"I know, El."

"But," She pulls back, ruffling his hair a little before shifting a little away from him. "It's your life. And I know you're doing it for the right reasons. So I can... accept it, maybe. In time."

He sends her a lopsided smile.  
"That's good enough for me."

"Can I ask you something, though?" He nods, and she worries her lip a moment before looking at him, determinedly. ""Just... Let me know, what you choose? Please, call or email or- or something, when you find out about this new thing? I need to know. I can't know everything, I get that, but... no more secrets, Chuck. Please."

Though he truly has no idea, still, what he wants to do, and he keeps circling around the same possibilities each time, he nods, musters up a smile for his sister.  
"Yeah. Yeah, I promise."

She nods, looks at him for a moment more, and stands, waiting for him to follow suit before they both head back to the apartment.

Chuck's not sure what he'd been expecting to see when they re-entered the room, but Sarah and Devon chuckling quietly isn't quite it. It cuts out, though, when they both turn to look at Chuck and Ellie in tandem. He feels Ellie tense next to him, maybe embarrassed or not sure what to say, and he clears his throat.

"I never gave Sarah the tour. Ellie, I'll let you and Devon... talk." He reaches out a hand to Sarah, wiggling his fingers and smirking at her. He notices she looks surprised, probably at the lightness of him and his sister, but it seems to be a happy surprise. "C'mon, baby. Prepare to be underwhelmed."

Sarah snorts as she takes his hand and stands up, and Ellie sends them both a quiet smile as they head round the kitchen and down the hall. He would give Sarah a full tour, he supposes, but right now he knows that everyone just needs some time apart to reconvene, discuss what's just happened, discuss this new normal of his sister and her boyfriend knowing Chuck is a spy. So instead, he just pulls Sarah round to his room, and closes the door. He expects her to look around, eye the Tron or the Dune poster with a smirk, but instead, she just turns to him.

"How'd it go?" she asks, immediately, grabbing both his hands and staring at him intently.

"Good. Well, as good as it could go, I guess. She, uh, she said she can accept it, so."

A small grin breaks out on Sarah's face, perfect and beautiful and making his stomach flip-flop all over the place.  
"That's great, Chuck. I know how tough that was, in there, for you, but I'm glad it'll work out." Her tone is genuine, and she's still beaming, and he just smiles back at her, overwhelmed by the past few minutes.

"I love you so much. I wouldn't have gotten through that without you, Sarah, honestly, I-"

She cuts him off with a kiss and he's more than willing to keep quiet for it. Her hands wind their way round his neck, fingers brushing his hair at the nape as she kisses him slow and lazy and deep, and he just slips his arms round her waist, pulls her closer, takes a step back when she moves forward. Eventually, he finds himself pressed up against the back of his bedroom door, not in a passionate lust-fueled way, just a happy loving easy way, because it's the nearest flat surface and he could honestly rest against it kissing her all day. When they part, he laughs in disbelief.

Sarah eyes him suspiciously, eyes darting around as if looking for something funny.  
"What?"

"I just made out, with you, in what's basically my childhood bedroom. Oh, if teenage me could see me now, I swear... Well, he wouldn't believe it. And honestly, I struggle to believe it myself some days."

"Oh stop it." She hits his chest in admonishment, and he knows it's a mix of modesty at his flattering her, and annoyance at his insecurity. But he can't help it. He really will never be used to this, ever. She just kisses him again, and he lets himself relax, for five minutes longer.

* * *

"Your tie just needs a little... fixing," Sarah mutters, leaning into him and raising her fingers to fiddle with the knot. Honestly, the tie is stifling, too tight round his neck, too choking, and he wishes he weren't wearing it at all. But this meeting is significant, important, and he needs this suit right now, needs to slip into Charles Carmichael's shoes, be Carmichael, fearless, controlled, composed, if with some reservations about a sketchy assignment. He can't be Chuck Bartowski, giant nerd, boyfriend to the most amazing woman in the world, and completely petrified right about now.

A little part of him thinks of Barcelona, out of the blue, of that skinny tie Sarah had had him wear though he'd rather have foregone it, and then of Kentucky when she'd tugged tight on his tie then to pull him in for that pretty much earth-shattering kiss, and he reminds himself to ask her if she's got a thing for him and ties at a more appropriate date.

"That's better..." She sends him a smile, but he can only flash one back at her, tight in reply, and he sees her face fall and instantly feels awful for his bad acting job. Reaching out, her hands curl round his lapels, and she tugs on them, bringing him to attention and meeting her determined gaze. "Hey. Don't freak out."

"Okay. Okay, I'm good." He brings up a better smile, more real, more controlled, though probably just as terrified-looking, and she grins back in reply, taking a step back even as she looks at him, open, affectionate.

"I love you."

"I love you too." he murmurs, then rests a hand against the small of her back briefly, gently, leading her to step forward out the shadows with him. A few quick steps more, and the large imposing structure of the CIA Headquarters appears round the corner. "Let's do this."

They walk separately, side by side, perfectly matching in pace as they walk up to the building. Agents swarm outside the entrance, clutching briefcases and coffee cups, some talking on phones as they walk, some chatting to others on the patches of grass outside the bland doors. Chuck and Sarah keep in time as they avoid the mass, well-rehearsed, in-sync, and it's times like these he's still a little stunned he knows someone as well as he knows his partner. They're perfect together, and if this meeting decides otherwise, or makes that otherwise, well, he's not quite sure how he'll deal with that.

The doors glide open as they enter the lobby together, Sarah sending him a quick glance of reassurance before they ease round the humming reception and find the turnstiles. With quick swipes of their passes, they're in, headed to the elevator with the rest of the masses, and Chuck's not sure when he started thinking of this meeting like a mission, plotting every nuance and occurrence in the space, tracking his own movements, eyeing Sarah's, but it's happened, and he's pretty sure it's not without reason.  
A short elevator ride later- too short, in Chuck's opinion-, and they're outside Graham's office. The receptionist blinks up at them.

"Agents Walker and Carmichael, here to see Director Graham?" Sarah says, and Chuck's glad she's the one who spoke because he's a little stunned right now, being back in this same place his life changed not so long ago, eight months, give or take. But now he's here with Sarah, his partner, his girlfriend, his infinitely more, and she's occupying his thoughts in a far different way to the way she was last time.  
Last time, she'd been a whirlwind, twelve hours he'd fallen so hard for, he couldn't stop thinking about. This time, she's with him, supporting him, like he knows she would forever if it got to that. And he loves her.

"Take a seat, he'll be right out." It really is the same receptionist as before, even, the guy who looks like Devon, chiseled and blonde, and as they head over to the small cluster of chairs Sarah sends Chuck a look that says she's picked up on the similarity too.

"We're good." she murmurs, for his ears only as she sits next to him, and though he's staring at the floor he can see her hand just in his peripheral vision, reaching out for his but stopping in the air, like she's just remembered where she is, that to Graham, the receptionist, everyone in this damn building, they're not together. They're just partners. She pulls back.

It's silent for a couple minutes until the door clicks, and there stands Langston Graham, brooding, arms crossed over his chest, watching.

"Agents." he nods, and Chuck stands immediately, hands automatically smoothing down his suit. Sarah stands slower, separate, not so in-sync. It's probably deliberate on her part, shows they're not as impossibly attuned to the other as they are, but it still feels strange, somehow. "Follow me."

Though Chuck had been expecting to step back into that familiar grand office, Graham sweeps past the two of them instead, and heads back out the door they came through a few minutes ago. Chuck only has time to send Sarah a questioning look to which she merely shrugs before they follow after, down a long straight hall until finally the Director stops at a door. The surrounding walls are frosted glass and Chuck can just about make out the handful of people inside, shadows moving about, and he knows it's time.

When they step through into the conference room, Graham waiting for the agents to follow in before closing the door, Chuck eyes the people now turning in his very direction. There's a woman in a military suit, one eyebrow raised in expectation, and two others, men in suits with CIA IDs hanging on their pockets. One of them is wearing glasses, his hairline receded, the other isn't even looking their way. If he had to, Chuck would hazard a guess they're the scientists behind this.

Graham clears his throat.  
"Agents Carmichael, Walker. Let me introduce General Diane Beckman of the NSA, she'll be heading up this operation with me. And the scientists, Doctor Busgang and Doctor Zarnow."

Looking at them all, Chuck nods, tries to perfect a casual Carmichael-like air.  
"Hi." he says. Beckman stays back, hands held behind her back, still just observing like she's waiting to be impressed. One of the doctors approaches immediately, though, smile wide and glasses a little crooked.

"It's nice to meet you, Agent Carmichael, Agent Walker, I'm Doctor Busgang. I look forward to working with you."

"Yeah," is all Chuck can manage, apprehensive as he is. If Graham hasn't worked out a solution but is still going to order Chuck to go ahead with this, then he has no way out, no option. The people in this room and a computer in his head is all that's in his future- that, or unemployment. The other doctor, Zarnow, hasn't moved yet, and Chuck wonders if Busgang will be the only friendly person on this whole project.

Without even speaking, Beckman gestures to the table, and Chuck wordlessly finds a chair at the head of the conference table, Sarah sitting right next to him. Graham and the scientists sit and stand at the other side, files spread out on the space, pictures and papers all marked top secret. A sick feeling rises in Chuck's stomach, out of nowhere.

"We hope to-" Busgang starts, but Chuck raises a hand, cutting him off. He feels the tightness of his tie round his throat, but breathes, takes a second, and lets himself relax into Carmichael.

"I'm... I'm sorry, to interrupt, really, but, Director the last time you and I spoke, I pointed out some... flaws, in your plans, and some conditions. I don't really think there's much point in continuing if you haven't fixed those yet." His tone is a little cockier than it needs to be, but hey, that's Carmichael.

Graham sighs, loudly, sharing a somehow knowing look with Beckman, like they'd expected this, and Chuck wonders quite when he became the kid left behind on the playing field, being gossiped and whispered about.  
"I assure you, Agent Carmichael, they're... fixed." the Director says, disdainfully.

Sarah clears her throat, and Chuck sees her lean in, fold her arms atop the table.  
"If I might ask what you're proposing, Sir? Surely we can work out the specifics once we know what we'll actually be doing."

Though he waits a moment, Graham nods and relents, and Chuck begins to thank his partner for having such a connection to the Director before his rage over that particular connection floods him again and he just sits in silence.

"Not much would change, agents." Beckman pipes up, finally. "The Intersect shouldn't hinder your abilities as a spy in any way, Agent Carmichael, the plan is to have you continuing to work with Agent Walker on missions just as you do now, neither of you would be put to waste. However, as this is a joint op, I'm requesting you work with one of my agents too as a team, when the time comes for you both to return to field work with the Intersect. That way, Carmichael, you'll have two agents both working with you and protecting you."  
Chuck sighs, relieved. Sarah's still here.

"And, if I might add, though at this time the Intersect will just be comprised of data and information, we hope to add to it in the future." Busgang says, still bright and cheery next to his somber companion.

"Add what?" Chuck manages to ask, mind running a mile a minute.

"Commands, actions, hopefully some self-defense. We're looking into languages right now, and though it's still early, it looks promising."

"Self-defense?" Sarah asks, sounding perplexed and a little awed.

"Well... yes. We hope to fill the Intersect with a variety of martial arts skills, and when the subject, in this case Agent Carmichael, utilises the computer, the skills will be fed to his brain and he could act out the command despite having had no prior training in that discipline. We have similar hopes for a language database."

Sarah narrows her eyes.  
"Agent Carmichael has been trained, Doctor, he's fully field-proficient. I can vouch for that." Chuck can't help but think his partner sounds a little irked, which is flattering, but he's not quite sure why. He clears his throat.

"Why would I need more skills?"

Graham sighs.  
"Every spy can improve. Every spy can… make more lethal hits, make clearer shots. Even you, Carmichael. Even a spy like Agent Walker. The Intersect can remove the human error."

Oh. Chuck gulps. Now he realizes why Sarah was asking. This thing could cut past all of his insecurities, his issues, with this job, this could turn him into, for lack of a better word, a killing machine. One with a universal translator. Everything sounds like science fiction, right now, and though he thinks he should be nerding out over these things being real, he finds himself merely shrugging, weighing this new information up.  
"I guess we'll, um, come to that if it happens." If he becomes some crazy Terminator-like spy. Even the thought is ridiculous. "You invented this thing, I guess you know what it's capable of."

"We didn't invent it." Zarnow says. Chuck's head jerks up, stunned at the guy finally speaking, sounding even more bored than Beckman and Graham.

"If you didn't-"

"We can get onto that later, Agent Walker." Graham says, sharply, and Chuck resists the urge to share a suspicious look with Sarah. That's curious. "As for your other concern, Carmichael, about your... I believe you called it creating quite a bounty? As this is a joint op, General Beckman and myself will keep knowledge of the human Intersect to a minimum within the intelligence community. Only a handful of others outside this room will even know you exist. The main computer will still be operational, and we'll lead everyone to believe that's the only copy."  
Somehow, to Chuck, that's not really a reassurance. Having a backup just makes him more expendable, if they could find someone else to put this thing into, means there's always another version out there, ticking by. Which means Chuck can be risked far more than if it were just him, the only copy.

But Graham listened to him, and they're at least attempting to move to his demands by reducing how many people would know he exists.

He has to admit, this thing seems cool. It's new, but it's got potential, and the agencies seem intent on honing that. The scientists seem dedicated, as do Beckman and Graham. And Chuck would still get to work with Sarah, side by side, every day. It would be dangerous, but they'd still be doing their jobs, achieving the goals he joined the CIA in order to achieve (well, it was that and to prove a point to Bryce Larkin). He'd be in more danger, and he'd have to answer to Graham a lot more, have much less freedom, but he'd have more information. They'd still be helping people. But there's one more thing weighing on his mind, keeping him from committing to this.

"Director Graham, could I speak to you privately, for a moment, if that's okay?"

Sarah turns to him, eyes wide with a question, mouth parted in silent objection, but he just nods at her, hopefully in reassurance. Graham grunts, but heads toward the door they came through, gesturing to Chuck to follow. He does, and they stand outside the frosted glass in the corridor.

"Well?"

"Sir, I have a sister," he says, wondering why it feels dangerous to even admit that in these walls.

The Director frowns, folds his arms yet again.  
"I've read your unsealed file, Agent Carmichael, I'm well aware."

He tries not to roll his eyes, knowing being too sarcastic here would just make Graham shut him down instantly. And he needs the man on his side, right now. Because after seeing Ellie, after the promise he made to her, no more secrets, Chuck needs this. He clears his throat.  
"I took this job to protect her, to keep her safe, but if I do this- if I download your Intersect, I put her in a whole lot more danger. I've done this job long enough to know how the enemy works, if they want me, they'll happily go through her to find me."

"I could arrange a detail for her, or-"

Raising a hand, he once more feels Carmichael's persona, far more confident in that than in his own, in Chuck's.  
"I don't want her under surveillance, and she wouldn't want that either. But, if you let me arrange protection for her, a number she can call, and if you let me stay in contact with her, I might just do this."

Graham raises an eyebrow, somehow stands more imposingly, scarily, like the Director of the agency he is.  
"I don't appreciate you using this as an opportunity to blackmail me, Carmichael. I've already given into your demands about Walker. We need to minimize the risks, you can't just tell every civilian you want." He leans in a little, narrows his eyes. "You can't win them all."

Though his words are quite true, Chuck refuses to believe them. He folds his arms too, mimicking Graham's stance, tenses his frame, stares the older man down, and takes something of a gamble.  
"Director, that you did just that with Sarah, and gave in, that told me one thing. You need me." He shuffles on his feet, straightens out a little, feels Carmichael's charm and confidence, with a little arrogance mixed in, flow over his shoulders, and he's never been so glad for his agent self than in this very moment. He looks at Graham, coolly. "I'm not gonna lie, the Intersect's appealing, you know I worked engineering in college, you know I studied tech as an analyst, it was always gonna be interesting to me. But I'm your only choice. You let me do this, you let me keep my sister safe, and this could work."

"You're right about one thing, Agent." Graham says, after a beat, scoffing a little and moving back toward the room.

"And what's that?"

He shrugs.  
"You're my only choice." He turns back to the door and pushes it open swiftly, striding back in, and Chuck hurriedly runs between the gap before the door swings closed again.

Sarah's looking at him, a question clearly written on her face, and by the awkward air in the room Chuck guesses nobody spoke in his and the Director's absence.

"Everything okay?" Sarah asks, under her breath, as he takes his seat next to her once more, and he turns to her with a nod. Her gaze shifts and he thinks she knows what just happened. The tables just turned, for everyone. He can't believe that worked.  
He'd guessed they needed him for the project, he'd guessed it was important, but for Graham to just give in like that cemented the idea in Chuck's mind; this thing is a big deal. He's a big deal. And the CIA and NSA are willing to do a lot to get, and keep, the Intersect in his head.

"So, agents." Beckman says, sounding a little impatient, shifting one of the folders on the table and pulling out stamped documents as she glares at Graham. The files are thick wads of paper, tied and sealed, official markings of the agencies at the top. It's a contract, a deal, and the time has come to sign before they can find out anymore. "Are you in?"

When Chuck turns to Sarah, her eyes are still clear, open, though her expression is just quiet inquisitiveness and nothing more, nothing to convey the trust she's sending his way, the strength, the love. But he feels that all anyway. He just knows.

He raises an eyebrow, sees the tiny incline of Sarah's head. Under the table, he subtly reaches out just a little, finds her knee, squeezes it, anchoring, and lets go. She's here. She's in.

And just like that, he has no real reason to decline. It'll still be dangerous, yes, he'll be at the mercy of the people in this room, but Sarah will be safe, and with him, Ellie will be safe too, and he'll be the spy he... always could've been? Because that's the reality, truly; if Bryce had never tried to get him kicked out of Stanford, if Bryce hadn't objected, Chuck would've been a fully fledged spy years ago, he'd _know_ languages and even more self-defense, he'd know important intel, he'd be able to make difficult shots, maybe—he's still a little unsure on that. But instead of training properly, he'd sat behind a desk, running algorithms and inputting data day after day until the CIA intervened, having watched him do small insignificant work for long enough. Without Bryce, Chuck would have the Intersect, the project would've continued as planned, its top recruit running round the world knowing this and that. This path, the Intersect, this was what he was always meant to do. He just took a little longer getting here than he should've.  
And he has Sarah as his partner, and his sister's newly strengthened safety, to show for that. This might not be the path he was initially meant to be on, but he knows a hundred times it's the best one he could ever wish to travel.

He turns back to the bosses at the other end, Zarnow looking a little excited suddenly, Busgang somewhat apprehensive, Beckman and Graham stoic but just with the tiniest question in their eyes.  
He can almost count it down with Sarah. Are they in?

"Yes."

"Yes."

They say it at the same time. In sync.

* * *

"Chuck?" she calls out, voice only just audible from so far away in their bedroom. Their bedroom, he thinks with a smile, because she really has moved in now, transferred everything else she owns, got her own key, put pictures of them up on shelves and clear spaces. There's even one of him and Sarah and Ellie and Devon, taken by Morgan their second last day in LA. They'd taken a walk in the sun and stopped by the Griffith Observatory. Los Angeles stretches out in the background behind them all, lights and brick and stone sharp against the pure blue sky. It's a beautiful picture, and though it sits less than romantically stuck to their fridge, it's perfect. It's his family, all together, what with Morgan's face giant in the corner of the shot too, though that was unplanned, typically Morgan. Chuck's childhood friend had been a little eager to spend as much time with him as possible, even though Chuck hadn't told him about the spy life then. If Ellie had felt betrayed, somehow Chuck knew Morgan would've felt even more so, and they simply didn't have enough time to get over that in the week they'd spend there.

But even with that deception hurting him a little, importantly, the taped-up scrapbook in Chuck's wallet is no more, replaced by this, by the real.

This apartment is also so much more of a home than ever now; this is where they come back, every single day, after a session with the scientists or a tough briefing with Beckman and Graham. Putting down roots is supposed to be impossible for a spy, and yet here they are, with a home, with roots.  
He might miss the thrill of missions they used to have, the rush of adrenaline only that can bring, the traveling from place to place, since they've only worked a few LA-based jobs since the Intersect preparations began, but Chuck knows he's got something infinitely better, infinitely more permanent, right here with Sarah.

"In here," he calls out in reply, and he hears her feet padding all the way across the hardwood floor until he sees her reflected in the window, standing right behind him.

"Are you okay?"

"Mhm?" He casts a look behind him, smiles. "Yeah, I'm fine, I'm just doing some people watching."

"At 3am from the 8th Floor?"

He can't help but chuckle, smiling even more when she slips her arms round his shoulders, resting her head next to his. She must be right up on her tiptoes to reach him, which is frankly, adorable. He rests his hands on top of hers just below his neck.  
"The city looks nice from here, what can I say?"

In the hazy blurry city-speckled reflection of her, he sees her frown.  
"Are you sure you're okay? How's your head?" She slips away, moving her arms back, and runs a hand through his hair.

He had his first upload today. Just a test, one little file of information, over in a few seconds, and minutes after he'd gotten some information from a picture of a turtle in a flash, with only the tiniest ache in his head that faded right away. The scientists were more than impressed at how easy it had been, how simple, and as he'd left the white room Chuck had heard Busgang muttering something about how things were beyond his wildest dreams.

"I'm fine, honestly, it doesn't hurt at all."

"They did say you're perfect for it."

He chuckles drily at Sarah's thoughts lining up with his own.  
"That they did." He turns around to face her, slides his arms round her waist. "Are you worried about me?"

She nods.  
"Of course I am. But... today went well. That could be promising."

"I'm gonna call Ellie again tomorrow, let her know what happened, as best I can. Let her know it's... it's definitely going ahead."  
The scientists think in a month or two, he'll be ready, and they'll be ready too. He'll have constant updates with new information every few months, sure, but the big upload, it's on the horizon, it's close. After a month here, prepping and researching and investigating, learning all he can about this computer, he damn well hopes it works. He's still a little apprehensive, having something so a part of him, stuck in his head, being government property. He'll sign on the dotted line and give Graham and Beckman the authority to send him wherever with the team, do whatever, shoot whomever, even. They'll control this, which irks Chuck. He's his own person, not just the guy with a brain capable of holding a computer. A computer which, he knows, will always have a backup, a just-in-case, but in case of what? In case they get fed up of him, in case they find someone else, someone better? But despite that, with today, he's sure this is what he wants to do, sure this is the route he should take in this profession. He just wants to help people.

"That sounds like a good idea." Sarah murmurs, kissing his chest briefly. "Hey, what did you think of Casey?"

He smirks at her, tightening his grip and trying not to laugh thinking of their new partner, their third teammate, who they met before the test upload today. The guy was gruff, grumpy, and rambled on about his distaste at being assigned to an existing partnership, and how he only took this assignment because he'd been ordered to.  
Chuck knows he and Sarah have both heard tales of this guy, rumours through the intelligence community, and so Chuck truly believed the Major when he said he wanted to do anything but be assigned to an experimental team protecting a walking talking computer, but he also believed Casey when he said he'd do his best to protect them. Because it's his job.

"He's terrifying," Chuck admits. "But he seems good at his job, and... very loyal, to the country."

"It's his loyalty to us he'll have to prove, you know that."

"Yeah... Hey, what do we do with him, about, y'know, us?" He has to ask, since it is the biggest apprehension he has over becoming a team with this guy. If he and Sarah have to pretend they're not together, all for Casey's sake, that's gonna get old and awkward, fast. "I don't think it'd take him long to get suspicious when you keep sleeping in the same bed as me."

Sarah wrinkles her nose.  
"You make it sound like I'd have to sleep in the same bed as _him_ to even things out."

"Ew, no, gross." He pulls a face at the thought, and Sarah shrugs.

"No, we'll... We should tell him. Force him not to tell Beckman and Graham, of course, but we should let him know. I can be very persuasive, we shouldn't have any trouble." At her words, she runs a hand down his chest, and he blinks slowly, sleepy, and pretty turned on all of a sudden.

"You threatening someone is way hotter than it should be."

"I know." She laughs, throws back her head and sends him a grin, and he grasps her hand, tangles his fingers in hers.

"This is the right thing, right?" He's asked the same thing so many times the past many weeks, after a bad briefing with Beckman, after Zarnow yelled at him for asking what the cipher did for the second time in so many days, but today, it feels different. Today, the apprehension Chuck feels isn't frustration or anger at those involved in this operation; today, it's fear. For all the work and research, today was the first day they've had something to show for it, the first day they've known, wholeheartedly, that the Intersect can function in a person. That it can recall information, that it's detailed, that it works quick enough to not endanger Chuck should he activate it mid-mission. Today showed it's not controllable, no, but it's quick. Today, they got the go-ahead. Today, for what feels like the thousandth time, Chuck's life changed, again, Sarah's along with it.

She nods, expression so steady, so sure.  
"Yeah, I think so. And you think so too."

"Yeah, I do," he murmurs, though he's nowhere near as confident as she is, right now.

"But it still scares you."

"Yeah. But at the same time, it's... It's awesome. Seriously, Sarah, today, with that picture, I- I just knew what it meant, it just came to me like a flash of information. It was like..." He roots round his mind, thinking of a way to equate the strange slow then immediately rapid zooming-in sensation, bending his mind and making him forget to breathe all at once, and he snaps his fingers when it comes to him. "Oh! It was like my brain went to warp."

She smirks, and he knows it's at the reference, since he's been giving her a nerd education in their off time.  
"I could tell."

"What- Wait, you could?" He frowns, but she only smirks even more.

"Yeah, you, uh, you made a face when it happened."

"I did? Huh, I thought I just kinda... frowned, a little." She grins, and he sends her a flat look, knowing she's avoiding saying something now. "Was it a weird face?"

She tries, very badly, to suppress a laugh and he though he attempts to keep a straight expression as he narrows his eyes at her, he fails, instead laughing along with her but remaining as indignant as he can.  
"You're telling me I'm gonna be stuck with this thing for the foreseeable future and I'm gonna make a stupid face every time I use it?"

She shrugs, still giggling. She's so adorable he can't even be mad, he finds.  
"I guess."

"Oh for g-" He cuts himself off and changes the subject somewhat, lifting her by the waist and swinging round, heading back to their bedroom and smiling as she laughs even more.

"It's kinda cute."

"Gee babe, you know just how to charm me."

She runs her hand down his chest again before he places her down on the sheets.  
"Yes, I do."

He can only smirk and lean in to kiss her.

* * *

"I can't believe they scheduled it for the day after your birthday."

"I guess it's the agency's twisted way of wishing me many happy returns."  
He sighs, shifting the phone to his other hand, running his now-free fingers through Sarah's hair where she's lying against his side, head on his thigh. Her eyes are shut but she's not sleeping, he knows, she's just listening in on his conversation with Ellie, likely hoping everything goes well.  
He'd managed to send an email off to his sister the moment they got the date a couple weeks ago, but today, the day before it's due to happen, he just wants to chat to her. He needs to talk to Ellie, hear her voice, let her know he's okay, he's going to be okay. He's had contact like he'd demanded, as much as the CIA have allowed, but he hasn't seen her since the spring, what with all the research and tests and practice, and setbacks have meant it's taken until late September to get the upload functional and ready. First the cipher glitched, then there was an issue with the white room, then something happened to the processor and Busgang and Zarnow had cursed Orion, whoever that was, for abandoning them, for days.

But the Intersect's up and running, and tomorrow, Chuck's life changes. Again. It keeps doing that, he notes with a wry smirk.

The difference is, he thinks he wants this change. This long wait, all the research and delays, all he's learnt, all he's done, he pretty much wants the Intersect now. Not just because it's cool, or he thinks it could help him help people, he _knows_ it can. He's had the beta version, gone through flash after flash (the scientists coined the term after the sheer speed of the data), he knows what he can retain, and speak, and remember. And soon he'll have that tenfold, in a team, saving the world.

"I really wish I could be there for it." Ellie says, sigh matching his down the line.

"I do too, El. But like I said, we've practiced it a lot, it'll be fine." He wonders idly if he's saying that just for his own reassurance or for Ellie's too. Because the upload is happening in 15 hours, at 10am sharp, and if not for his sister's voice in his ear and his girlfriend curled up by his side, he'd be beyond freaking out by now. "Besides, Sarah'll be there with me, and I'll know you're like, thinking of me, too."

"So in the email, you said it's like a surgery, but not?" she confirms, and he cracks his neck.

"That's the best way to describe it, I think. My job won't be much different, I'll just have this... surgery, to add to it."

"And you're sure it's safe?"

"Yes," he placates, much like he has to every time he calls her. He wishes for the hundredth time that he could just tell her exactly what's going on, because he knows she'd understand, knows she'd keep it quiet. And after all, she's a doctor, a neuroscientist, she could've easily been on the team that developed the Intersect, and frankly, Chuck's sure she'd be better than some of the people he's worked with recently. She's awesome. She's his sister. But since she is, and since she's a doctor, she's always going to be concerned about this sort of thing.

"How long will you take to recover after this... surgery?"

"It'll take a while itself, the doctors aren't sure how long but maybe eight hours, seven..." They realized a little ways into testing that it's easier for Chuck to be strapped to a chair while the uploads happen. He has a bad habit of falling over after them. "But once it's done I shouldn't be out too long, they'll wake me."

"And you'll call me the minute they do?"

He sighs, twisting his lips into a wry smile she can't see.  
"I'll call you the minute I can, El, there's a difference there, sadly-" Sarah pokes him in the leg and he looks down at her. "Yeah, baby?"

"I could call her during it, let her know it's going okay." she suggests, so relaxed, and he smiles at her, feeling his nose crinkle.

"And, Sarah's gonna call you midway through. You can talk crap about me behind my back, huh?"

Ellie laughs, and he lets the warmth and contentment wash over him, fill him, reassure him. He just hopes he knows this again, soon. He's not sure when he'll next get to see his sister and his friends, when the next break will be, but he's hopeful. If he convinced Graham to give in once, Chuck just hopes he can do it again.

"Okay, that sounds nice. Hey, Chuck?"

"Yeah?"

"Happy birthday," she murmurs.

He smiles a little sadly.  
"Thanks, El." She pauses, and he sighs, knowing he needs to end the call. "I love you, El. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Love you too, little brother." With a suspiciously tearful-sounding sniff, she ends the call, and he lets out the breath he'd been holding in.

"That sounded like it went well." Sarah murmurs, pushing herself up against him and brushing some hair out her face. There's a little faint crease on her cheek from a wrinkle in his jeans, and it's adorable.

"It did. Thank you for offering to call her, I kinda think she'll need that."

She merely shrugs, raising a shoulder and smiling lopsidedly.  
"She's family. You do that kind of stuff for family."

He can't help but shake his head and lean in to kiss her. He wonders, absentmindedly, how much she's changed in the year or so they've worked together, because it is almost a year. Barcelona was just days after his birthday last year, London creeping into early October. Back then he hardly knew her, she was just a spy, not in want of a partner, still hurting from the years-passed betrayal of a close friend and teammate. He likes to think he challenged her opinions just a little back then, but god, now, a year later, she's got a family, his family, they're all a part of one another now, inextricably linked. She'll call his sister tomorrow to comfort her, but he thinks she might just get some comfort out of it herself too. That's a pretty big change of priorities from the woman he met last year, and he thinks she might think it's a good one.  
Pulling back, he slouches against the couch cushions once more.

"I gotta say, this has been the laziest birthday I've ever had."

Sarah raises an eyebrow.  
"Uh, I'm sorry?"

"No, it's cool, it's fun." He chuckles. "It's... relaxing. It's been so busy lately gearing up for the upload, I'm not sure when we last got a day to just hang out and eat crap."

Her eyes travel to the empty pizza box on the coffee table. Just like old times. And as he follows her gaze, he thinks back to that first evening she spent here, of the photographs they took to send to Ellie which now sit framed by their bedside, of that almost-moment, interrupted by a far too prompt delivery guy. Now he's living with Sarah, so impossibly in love with her, and though he knows his future is the Intersect and a team and missions and intel, when he thinks about it just himself, all he thinks of that's to come, is Sarah.

She smirks.  
"Me neither."

"You wanna watch another movie before we go to bed?" It's not too late, and though they have to be up early tomorrow to get to the DNI for 10am, a quick A New Hope rewatch feels just about right at this very moment.

"Okay." she says, with a knowing smile that makes his stomach flip, even now.

He stands to find the disc- not hard, it's always on a nearby shelf- and sets it up, and the moment he sits back down again, Sarah's snuggled up into his side, head against his chest but angled right to the TV screen.

"Hey," she murmurs, just as Luke and C3P0 leave to go find R2 again, and he looks down at her.

"Mhm?"

"You with me?"

He can't help but smile, think back, think back to a time before the Intersect, before this pressure, when he was just a guy partnered with the most incredible woman in the world, completely in love with her. Some things hardly change, he muses.

"Always."

She reaches up to kiss his cheek, then turns back to the movie.

* * *

When he's woken at 1am by the frantic beeping and buzzing of both his and Sarah's cell phones, he's both relieved, and pissed off, because he feels like crap. Sleep had been elusive, the early time they'd headed to bed combined with his increasing anxiousness making it near impossible to drift off, and he's sure he only got the past half hour before someone decided to wake them up impossibly early. Sarah seems unmoved, still asleep, and he leaps out of bed and grabs both their phones as he stumbles sleepily out into the wider space of his apartment. He double checks he's definitely answering his phone and not his girlfriend's, before he picks up.

"Carmichael, se-"

"We have a situation, Agent Carmichael," Graham says, voice calm and smooth even though Chuck can hear chaos and sirens in the background. He swallows, frowns.

"What... what is it, what happened?"  
It's something bad, he can ascertain that much. Is someone dead? One of the scientists, or Beckman? It's not an unusual question in this business. Was there a problem with the computer, did it start prematurely, did the system overload on one last test? Or did the other bad alternative happen, did someone find out about the Intersect, copy the data, take the schematics?

"The Intersect was destroyed."

Chuck swallows. That was the option he was completely putting from his mind.  
He's surprised to find only the tiniest bit of him isn't swamped in annoyance, anger, rage. Because it's been months working on this, he'd worked toward today, prepared himself, and now someone's stepped right all over it, over him, and literally blown everything into little pieces.

"How?"

"Someone broke in, downloaded the entire system, then blew up the white room before sending the computer to someone. There's nothing left."

"Who?" He can only speak in one word questions now, apparently.

Graham pauses, and Chuck's stomach turns in apprehension of just why the older man is sparing him this. Right before he speaks, suddenly, Chuck knows exactly what he's going to say.  
"It was Agent Larkin." Somehow, it's barely a shock. "It appears he went rogue on his first assignment since his deep cover mission."

If Chuck thought he was angry before, it's nothing compared to this, to the fury that boils in his chest. He'd sorta forgiven Bryce for trying to kick him out of college, he'd told himself his former friend was just looking out for him, doing what he thought was best, and since, after all, his actions led to Chuck meeting Sarah, he thought he'd let it go. But if protecting his friend is anywhere near Bryce's excuse this time, Chuck can't believe it, won't, he refuses to. No, Bryce is just sabotaging any chance Chuck has of making this work, of being a spy, of surviving in this game.  
And Chuck doesn't want to play anymore.

"Needless to say, you don't need to come in later today. We have a lot to figure out. How much damage was done, if we can rebuild, where Larkin sent the computer to so we can get it back. Just... await further instructions."

"Yes-" Chuck clears his throat, tries again. "Yes sir."

"Oh, and Carmichael?"

"Yup?" He barely gets the word out.

"Happy birthday."

Chuck flips his phone shut before Graham even has a chance to hang up.

"Something's wrong." Sarah says, and he turns around with a jump. He hadn't even heard her get up, move near him, and that he was that within his thoughts is terrifying. Her hands reach out and grasp his shoulders, and she leans in close. "What is it, Chuck? Tell me- is it Ellie, or Morgan-"

He shakes his head, takes a deep breath.  
"Bryce destroyed it. He broke in and he downloaded it and sent it somewhere and he blew it up."

That Sarah's eyes widen in shock is also terrifying. She's Sarah Walker, she doesn't get surprised.  
She knows about Bryce, Chuck's told her many a time in great detail just how very complicated his recruitment came to be. She said she'd never heard of him at the agency, never crossed paths with him, and Chuck had been glad. He feels even more glad now, since the guy seems intent on ruining everything Chuck can have, can work for.

"Why would he do that?"

"I don't- I don't know." He tries to keep his eyes from stinging with furious tears but he has no luck, instead wrenches his arm out of Sarah's grasp and swipes them away furiously with the back of his hand. He spins round, facing the desk he's got set up with his laptop, facing away from Sarah away from her concerned worried gaze because he's just so angry at Bryce right now and she shouldn't see him like this. "It's gotta be me, it's my fault, if it wasn't me who was gonna get the Intersect this never would've happened. He's got something _against_ m-"  
He stops. Abruptly. Something catches his eye.

"Chuck?"

It's strange. Staring at his desk, he can't help but frown. He blinks, pointing toward his computer.  
"I left my laptop on last night, but... it's flickering." The little blue light on the side of the keyboard is shining off and on at intervals, little blips of a signal.

"What does that mean?" Sarah asks, sounding very confused. He understands why, really, he's just jumped from one thing to another, but he's suddenly convinced the two things are actually connected.

"...I have an email."  
He didn't have any before he went to bed, and it's only 1am right now. He wonders...

He turns round to find Sarah still confused, arm reaching out to him, but she looks stunned too, like her mind is making the desperate connections his is and she's trying to rationalize it just like him. He blinks, though, and they both dive for the laptop.  
It's slow, the computer groans from the sudden use, but he pulls up his emails soon enough, and there it is.

One waiting email, from none other than Bryce Larkin, is framed in the middle of the screen, pulsing like a cursor, with his old Stanford email address being the sender.

"Sarah..."

"Open it."

He does.  
"Oh." he says, once the window has popped up. The message is blank, with only an attachment, no explanation, no greeting, no goodbye. Chuck reads the file, sees the format. "That's weird, it's... it's a Zork file? The hell are you sending me this for, Bryce-"

" _Chuck_." she says, insistently, and he nods.

"Fine, fine, I'm getting to it." His hands tremble as he slowly moves the mouse and clicks on the file, and it loads a little slowly. If this is what Chuck thinks it is, if this is where Bryce ended things tonight, then this whole assignment just got a whole heap more complicated.

The screen fades to black as the game fills it, words automatically typing out in text-based interface.

 _The terrible troll raises his sword_

"What is that, is that a code?" Sarah asks, leaning over his shoulder, hand gripping his pajama shirt tightly. Her hair brushes his cheek and he catches the familiar scent of her favourite soap and somehow, it's that that reassures him he's not alone.

"Close, it's an old video game. Sarah, if... I mean, Bryce wouldn't steal and destroy the Intersect just to send me a video game this long after I spoke to him, I- If this is what we think it is, if I-" He leans heavily on the desk, palms pressed against the space either side of the laptop, keeps his gaze on the floor and tries to keep his breaths long and slow and controlled. Tries to keep the frustrated tears from burning his eyes again because this night is just too much and it's only 1am. "Why would he do this? Why would he steal it just to send it to me anyway? Is he... is he trying to frame me, or...? Or help me?"

Everything Bryce did, back then, at Stanford, he said he did it to help Chuck. But after all this time?

He feels the gentle pressure of Sarah's hand, rubbing a soft circle onto his back.  
"What do you want to do?"

That's the million-dollar-supercomputer-question, he supposes.  
"I wasn't 100% sure until I got that call from Graham, but... I want this. I'm the only one who this works for, I'm the only one. Either I do this now or the past half a year has been a waste, and the world gets more dangerous. Sarah, I- Bryce shouldn't have sent me this, he broke in to destroy the Intersect only to send it where it was gonna go anyway. He must not know I'm on the project, if he sent it to me, he doesn't know. Sarah if I take this-" He shouldn't. He should call it in, report it, clear this mess up. But if he answers this riddle, and if the Intersect is behind this wall of code, he gains control. He gains the upper hand. Graham and Beckman might still give him orders, true, but with the main computer destroyed, Chuck would be the only Intersect they'd have. There'd be no backup, no spare computer to upload into the next willing subject if they ever get fed up of him, no extra one to fall into enemy hands. They wouldn't risk him so much, wouldn't send him on dangerous red ops, risk the team, he'd be far too valuable for that. There'd be no experimental whims to fall to, and he wouldn't just be the guy the government used. He would be Chuck Bartowski, Charles Carmichael, the human Intersect. The only Intersect. But he shouldn't. Rules, protocol, training, right now they rear in his head, reminding him he really shouldn't. "What should I do?"

Sarah tugs on his shoulders, pulls him round to face her, and though her moves are sharp, when she reaches up and cups his face, oh, it's so slow and gentle and tender he almost breaks down again.  
"Do what feels right. You're you, you're Chuck Bartowski. Turning your back on what you believe in now, that wouldn't be you. You want to help people, right?" He nods. "So don't give up on what makes you great."

"But Beckman a-"

"We can think of something, some explanation. If you want this, and- and I think you do, I'm here, Chuck. Always."

He reaches for her, grasps her shoulders and pulls her in tight and kisses her fervently, strong. It's that night they met all over again, in her hotel bar, the fire rising within him, the heat between them, the steadfastness that would not abate. It's that night in Kentucky, that night in Indiana, that night after the ring base, that day in a hospital in Venezuela, it's every single kiss every single moment. He feels every curve of her, the warmth, the softness of her skin, the taut muscles under his touch, he pulls her close and tastes her and tastes her until he just has to pull away.

"Always." he breathes, with a nod, and she steps aside, letting him turn back round to the laptop. His mind is made up.

"You, uh, you might wanna look away," If he had a pair of sunglasses right now, he'd give them to her just like she'd had them for his tests and prior uploads, but her avoiding looking at the program will have to do.

With a cute little smirk, she stands right next to the laptop, facing him, whatever may be behind this screen firmly out of her field of vision.  
Chuck can't help but think, he wants this. He wants to keep saving the world, on his own terms, with Sarah by his side. And so he leans back down to the keyboard, with steady hands this time, and slowly types the familiar phrase.

 _Attack troll with nasty knife_

He takes one last look up at Sarah, sees her warm open eyes, her small little smile, and right there, he knows no matter what happens with this, he'll be okay. He really will.

Looking back at the screen, he reaches out, takes a deep breath, and hits enter.

* * *

 **a/n 2:** And that, dear friends, is that. Breathe it out.

I know, a cliffhanger, gah! But I felt that was in line with the show, lol, though it's a little less cruel than some the writers dealt us with, ahem. This chapter was a beast, I can't even remember how long it took me to write it, but I wanted to resolve every issue I felt would crop up with the Intersect appearing in this Chuck's life and every problem he'd faced before. Ellie, and properly writing her into this, Sarah and her relationship to Chuck, how that fits in with his life as a spy, how he'd get the Intersect through proper channels, briefings and meetings, or if he'd get it at all if he could decide on that. But then what would happen if Bryce still acted the same, the idea of Chuck always being destined to meet the Intersect at some point. It was a lot to pack in. I hope you agree with or understand the decisions I had them take, and the choices they made to get there. If not, that's cool.  
I'm sorry that I have no plans to continue this universe, really, no ideas for a sequel, though as I mentioned near the start, I have been deliberating writing maybe a companion piece from Sarah's point of view. There's absolutely nothing planned for that either, though, and since it took me over a year between initially writing all of this and posting it, maybe you'll just have to keep your eyes out and see what I might come up with.

However, I just want to say thanks! Truly. This is only my second Chuck fic, ever, and even when I'd written stuff before it was nowhere near something like this, on this scale, with these crazy crazy word counts (I still don't know how I write so much, ngl), and I genuinely had no idea if any of this would be enjoyable to read, or realistic, or in character, or anything. And the reception it's got has been more than I'd ever thought I'd get, you've been kind, patient (mostly, which I say with affection, I think), and mainly just responsive with your reviews and alerts and words, which is the best possible thing for any writer to get. This has been quite the experience, and I've honestly loved it, seeing all your thoughts, but mostly seeing the love so many of us still have for our little old show, which is at the heart of any fic here.  
I don't know when I'll see you next, but I'm at least taking a couple weeks off, lol, somehow even editing stuff for one post a week is tiring. Mad mad respect to all of you out there putting out your own work at super speeds—posting this today coincided with my final day of classes for this year, so I'm looking forward to having more time to read stuff! But, I've got some more mostly finished fics of my own written and just waiting for some TLC before they might ever reach your eyes, some totally totally different to this, so hopefully I'll be back, here, someday. Until then.

-Kiera :)


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